


Purification

by Knave_Iespyk



Series: Lunar Cycle Series [7]
Category: Thundercats
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 62,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knave_Iespyk/pseuds/Knave_Iespyk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Moons of Plundarr are not forgiving, especially where birthright is concerned.  One by one people of mixed race have been disappearing, and it is up to Cameo to figure it out before people he loves are hurt.  But is it too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Cheezey for the use of a few of her characters. It was much appreciated.

Purification by Jonathan Prideaux  
Chapter 1

Psychro of House Myntaello had been on many space ships in his time, but by far the Graviton freighter he was on was one of his least favourites. The people of that moon, one of five in the Plundarr system, excelled at two things: alcohol and weapons. Actually, if the gentleman across from him was to be believed, they were working on combining the two.

The freighter had a small mess hall, where some percentage of the thirty or so occupants could usually be found. Very few of them were passengers, headed from the moons to Third Earth, and only six crew were required to be running the ship at any given time. Psychro was there now, listening absently to the Psion/Graviton Lunatak named Mind Grind extol the virtues of getting opposing armies drunk from long range. Took all the fun out of getting blitzed, Psychro felt, but the stocky man didn't see it that way.

Still, he found it hard to be annoyed. His life was running pretty smoothly of late. His twin sister had married her beau, and was expecting his child in about four more months. While he wasn't entirely comfortable with their situation, he'd grown to accept it, and had found Psikaris' happiness contagious. Adding to his own mental state was the woman of his dreams, the Icewalker known as Chilla, was waiting for him on Third Earth. In exchange for performing a small task, sleeping with the Evil Chaser Mandora, she agreed to take him out on a date. It wasn't much, and there were no promises, but it was a start. Even the largest blizzard started with a single flake of snow.

"Hey there," a friendly voice said from beside him. "I thought Tug Mug might be with you." He glanced over and saw Black Tiger holding a notebook to her chest. She was the daughter of a high ranking Darkling who had broken taboos and married a Thunderian. Orange hair and faint grey stripes were the most visible sign of this union, though there was a very slight orange tint to the skin if you looked close enough.

"Nah. He's up on the bridge," he replied. He watched her saunter off and shook his head sadly. Poor kid, barely seventeen and she was head over heels for Tug Mug, and the rotund goof didn't even know it. He knew the signs, recognized it immediately. He shrugged inwardly; everyone had their fetish. His was women in general; it was one of the reasons that Chilla had warded him off for so long. It wasn't that he was simply out for sexual conquest, though that was occasionally the case, it was that he got bored with his laundry list of soul mates. In fact, he had nearly tried to seduce Black Tiger herself just to prove that he still had 'it' when it came to the younger generation. Luckily, there were lines that he wouldn't cross.

He discovered, to his shock, that Mind Grind was still talking, having clearly not noticed that he wasn't listening. "You know what the worst part of this ship ees?" The Graviton accent wasn't quite as noticeable in this one as it was in others, for which Psychro was grateful. He also suspected that the answer had nothing to do with the stench of unwashed men. "Eet's that we're carrying all this beer, and we can't drink any of it. What's the point in having beer if you can't drink eet?"

"I could certainly use a drink right now," Psychro thought wryly to himself. Out loud he asked "I thought they divided some out every day."

"But een such small glasses." Mind Grind practically sobbed, standing and waddling out of the mess hall. Alone again, Psychro chewed on a piece of bread and tried to think of happier thoughts.

* * *

The 'Vast Belly' cruised along at a slow clip. They were a little under a day away from the Moons of Plundarr and were just reaching a small asteroid cluster that lay between themselves and Third Earth. The bridge, such as it was, consisted of a pair of chairs side by side. Tug Mug stood behind the captain, staring out the small window at the rocks. Like most ships along this space lane, they were skirting the edge of the cluster rather than foolishly going through. It cost them about a minute, but the ends justified the means. Better to lose a minute than to pay for repairs.

"Captain," the other Graviton said. "There ees a ship nearby. Registry; Vertis."

The 'Vertis'? While the two crew members talked about whether they should contact them or not, Tug Mug puzzled over the ship's appearance. The Vertis was commanded by the mercenary Shiner. The Lunataks had worked with him once before and, while he wasn't a bad man, it was a little strange to see him out this far. Ultimately, from what he could tell, the freighter's captain decided not to hail him. They had no need for mercenaries at the moment.

"There you are!" Black Tiger said, entering. Tug Mug jumped, his motorized pistons bouncing in their grooves. She had her notebook with her, and a pen behind her ear. The girl was an aspiring author, looking to write about his companion Red Eye. "Psychro said you might be here. You have time to help me out some more?"

He shrugged. He didn't see any reason not to. She was pleasant company, and telling embarrassing stories about his friends was one of his favourite hobbies. He gestured with one hand.

"Captain! Unidentified craft appro..." Tug Mug turned, startled as the helmsman and captain collapsed very suddenly. Then the world went dark for him as well.

* * *

Not too far away a Darkling ship raced through space, transporting goods and a prisoner from the planet Third Earth. One of the passengers was Nuiane, friend of Nitro. She had heard the whispers before, here and elsewhere, about her relationship with the high ranking noble of the Ice Moon. Most of them were true; it was a sexual relationship, but the scope of it was all wrong. Icewalkers didn't believe in monogamy, and it wasn't entirely unusual for an Icewalker to have multiple partners. In the early days of the moon's history this was designed to maximize warmth, now it was more of a status symbol.

But Nuiane loved her master, even though she was a Darkling. When she had been caught committing a crime he had given her a choice of serving him or living in a dungeon for a year. The latter would have meant her death, and so she had reluctantly joined him. To her surprise he had proven kind and gentle when she behaved, but strict and harsh otherwise. Her feelings had softened, and she had stayed on after her sentence was up. The other girl that travelled with him, a Graviton whose parents had creatively named Gravica, had a similar story.

Nuiane was happy now. It had been so long since she had been around her people, this many of her people, that she had forgotten how it felt. They were quiet, almost secretive, but the nuances were there if you looked closely. She wandered the ship, attracting a fair amount of attention admittedly, and just listened to the ambiance. Crew members walked by, talking about how a hunting party had brought back a particularly large Groarner, a cat like creature that lurked in the trees.

Smells of native food wafted out of the mess hall, and she was tempted to get something to eat. But that would wait. Nitro liked the quiet times of eating with his companions, a much nicer word than someone else had used to describe her, and she quite enjoyed it too.

A pair of burly security personnel ran by, ducking into the elevator that went to the bridge section. Something was going on and Nitro needed to know about it.

* * *

Mystan stretched his senses. A powerful telekinetic, he sat in his holding cell in the cargo hold. Soon he would be back on the Psion Moon, stripped of his abilities as the price of failure. For now, he cherished his last fleeting moments with them. Idly he moved cargo around, to make it most inconvenient when it came to unload it. He felt the ship shudder to a stop and wondered why.

* * *

Psychro felt groggy and exhausted, like the night he'd spent with some twins only without the fun part of it. Experience told him not to move or open his eyes until he figured things out first. He'd been eating the greasiest piece of bread he'd ever had and then... then he was here. He was on a floor, cold steel against his cheek suggested that, but it wasn't the floor of the mess hall. So he had been moved, obviously. He could still smell Graviton, but it wasn't very powerful, and there was a soft feminine scent too.

There was talking. Black Tiger's voice, from what he could tell through the faint ringing in his ear. She was talking to a familiar voice. He figured there was no sense in putting off his waking any longer and rose unsteadily to a seated position.

"Easy there," Black Tiger said. She was crouched next to Mind Grind, but she approached him when she saw him up. They appeared to be in a small empty room with a single door. Given the metal grate across the narrow window he could tell it was a prison cell.

"Where are we?" he asked. It wasn't Control, they would have at least supplied a bathroom and maybe divided the men from the girl. Lunatak police were possible, though he couldn't imagine anything he'd done that would merit being here.

"You're all awake now," a voice on the other side of the door said. The door creaked open and a pair of Psions entered the room. One was tall, like all of his race, and had his hair cut short. Psychro got an uneasy vibe off this one, as though he were a man that was used to getting what he wanted by means that were best left unsaid. The other was a little skinnier, probably skinnier than was healthy, and seemed to be much more pale than his companion. His hair was tied back into a pony tail that dangled almost to his waist. It was the former who had spoken. "I've got good news for you genetic freaks, you all have new jobs. We're headed for a secret place where you will spend your time mining Caramium."

The word clearly meant nothing to the three, though the prospect of being slave labour did. Mind Grind started to stand, but the pasty one gestured with his hand and pinned him there. "The bad news," he said with a slight wheeze, "is that your life expectancy is about three months. Caramium is, tragically, very toxic to handle."

"Luckily for us, there's plenty of you freaks to do the work, eh Drell?" the creepy one chuckled. Psychro scowled, debating how quickly he and his companions could take out the Psions. Mental powers were tricky. One had to move very fast to beat the speed of thought.

"What do you mean freaks?" Black Tiger asked.

"Have you looked in the mirror? You're a freak of nature. An abhorrence to all that is decent." The girl blanched at his accusations, and realization began to dawn on Psychro.

They all had one thing in common. Their genetic makeup. A Psion/Graviton, a Darkling/Tiger, and a Psion/Icewalker. "Because we're hybrids? That's not a reason for kidnapping. We have as much value as..." Something was wrong. Ever since he was young Psychro had been able to get what he wanted, and it was thanks to his slight psionic power. A weak form of hypnosis that allowed him to sway opinions and convince people that he was telling the truth. But it wasn't there. Or rather, it was there but he couldn't access it.

"How quickly we divine the truth." The creepy one knelt in front of him, though he suspected it would be pointless to fight right now. The man tapped his forehead. "Telepath. I blocked off all your abilities, makes you freaks easier to control; so much more docile. I think you can those two away. I'm going to have some fun with this one."

The one named Drell gestured with one hand and the two Lunatak hybrids levitated off the floor, following the Psion out of the room. The door slammed shut and the discomfort level rose. "Now that we're alone, let me tell you what we have in store for you. My friends call me Myrik, but you can call me master. Our group has been operating quietly for the last number of years, cleansing the moons of all deviants, such as yourself. The powers of our people are being diluted. Take yourself, for example. Mild hypnosis, can change the temperature of your skin slightly. What's the point? A true Icewalker can breathe ice and shoot balls of fire. A true Psion, like myself, can control any mind. That little hypnosis trick gets you any girl you want, provided there's an interest to begin with. Me? I could have you wanting me, begging me to sex you up."

Psychro shuddered in revulsion. His only issue with homosexuality was that it decreased the pool of women available, while decreasing the competition for women. He'd never dabbled in it, and had no interest. "The problem we have is that Queen Luna doesn't quite see things our way. For years the advisors to the throne have been pure blooded Lunataks, but now..."

"Cameo."

"Precisely. Your brother in law. We want him most of all, and you are able to give him to us. Give us access codes to the palace and we will let you go free," Myrik smiled in such a way that Psychro knew he couldn't trust him.

"Why don't you just read my mind?"

"Because. Making you betray your loved ones is so much more fun. Just remember, I offered you the easy way out." Myrik stood and walked out the door, leaving an ominous silence. Psychro felt more alone and helpless than he'd ever felt before.

* * *

When she finished telling what she had seen, Nuiane watched her master think about the implications, even as the ship suddenly slowed to a crawl. Although Nitro was reasonably high-ranking, he doubted that the Darkling captain would give him the information he required. For years their people and his own had been warring, until Luna united them under her rule. "Come with me, just in case," he said. She stepped aside and followed him up.

* * *

Far away Cameo of House Mymekon was just beginning to rouse. He untangled himself from the bed sheets, careful not to disturb his slumbering bond mate. Psikaris was particularly beautiful in the morning, her hair tousled, and her eyes flicking back and forth in her sleep as though she were reading a book. She might be, he thought, letting his gaze traverse her face to those sweet kissable lips. She was a bookworm, and the best damned engineer on the moon. Her pregnancy was starting to get in the way of all that, but she was determined to keep up to date on all the latest schematics.

He rose, slipping off his bedclothes and putting on his uniform. He was still commander of the Lunar fleet, and that meant he had duties to perform. It looked to be a clear morning, and that was good. He wondered what the day would hold.

* * *

The flight deck was bustling with activity when Nitro and Nuiane arrived. There was very little light, as the Darklings were accustomed to using infrared control panels. But through the large window, and on the view screen beneath it, they could see a Graviton freighter hanging motionless in space. "No response on radio," a voice to the side said.

"Several life readings, none of them moving. Power levels at normal."

So. Something had happened on that ship. Something that had incapacitated the crew and abandoned the craft. Why? Whatever it was had happened fast, as a damage report was given. The 'Vast Belly' was in perfect order. "Recommendations?" the captain asked. Glowing red eyes turned in Nitro's direction, showing that he had finally noticed the intruder.

"We should board it. Investigate to see if we can figure out what happened," another officer said. "One or two only, in case it's some kind of plague."

Nitro saw a glint of teeth in the dim light. "We'll need to send that Psion to unlock the airlock, but he needs a keeper. Someone expendable. Would you care to volunteer?" the captain asked him. It was an obvious insult, but Nitro chose to ignore it.

"You get me to the airlock and I'll make sure he co-operates." He made his voice stay strong. Truth was, he wasn't nearly as confident as he made out to be. It was potentially dangerous, and adding a felon like Mystan wasn't going to make things any easier. There was no love lost between them, and Mystan might just take advantage of a situation. "Nuiane, you stay with Gravica. Those are her people over there." He also wanted her away from the danger, if there was any. Despite the gossip, he really did care about his women. Cared more about them than the Icewalker woman he had bonded for the sake of public perception.

"Yes master," she replied, kissing him lightly.

* * *

Trying to make note of where they were going, Black Tiger soon realized such a venture was a lost cause. The halls all looked identical, and she suspected that Drell was intentionally taking a circuitous route. Occasionally they passed a strange almost canine Mutant looking creature, all armed with guns, but that didn't give her any clue as to where they were or where they were going. Finally they arrived at a door blocked by a lumbering Icewalker. The woman stepped aside and opened the door. Black Tiger found herself in a room almost identical to the one that she and Mind Grind had been taken from. "Two more for the collection," Drell said, to the Icewalker as he released his telekinetic hold.

Black Tiger sprawled on the ground, glaring at her captor. She rushed the door as it closed and banged her fist on it. The Icewalker woman breathed a cold mist at her, forcing Black Tiger to retreat to the back of the cell. It was then that she noticed a young woman, a Psion mixed with Cheetah from the looks of it, already present. "Welcome to your new home. Enjoy it while it lasts. I hear we're not going to like the destination," she said. The half Cheetah didn't bother moving, already defeated and accepting a grim death. Hopelessness began to overwhelm Black Tiger and she began to sob.

* * *

Mystan was not prone to bursts of emotion. Generally speaking he found them to be a waste of time and only served to weaken the mind. Emotions had uses, of course, provided that one were capable of harnessing them, but it was far better to not bother at all. Even still, hearing the hated Nitro admit that he was needed solicited a ghost of a smile.

The Icewalker opened the cell door and led the way from the cargo hold. Somewhere up there, the pilot was skilfully navigating the two ships as close as he could before extending the tube of the airlock. Once the tube was connected, it was Mystan's turn. He closed his eyes, casting his spiritual self out of his body. He let his mind drift further, seamlessly drifting through the walls of both ships.

Mechanics weren't his specialty, he had other people who looked after that sort of thing, but he knew the basics. There was a button beside the airlock too, which helped. Carefully he pushed it and the freighter's door opened. With his primary task complete, Mystan returned to his body. "Shall we then?" he inquired, gesturing.

* * *

It was more than a little eerie to walk on to the ghost ship. The lights were still on, and nothing seemed outwardly wrong. But there was something wrong. They found the first victim in the middle of the hallway. A Graviton who had probably been carrying the pieces of paper that were now on the floor. He was face down and wearing a gaudy purple and green outfit that clashed wildly with his orange hair. Nitro knelt beside him and carefully checked for vital signs. "He's alive," he reported. With a little difficulty, Nitro rolled him on to his side. There was the beginning of a bruise on his forehead, but otherwise there didn't seem to be anything wrong. The eyes were glazed over, and drool puddled from his lips.

"A psychic attack," Mystan murmured. His eyes were closed in concentration, doing some sort of Psion trick. Nitro fought back the instinctive urge to hit him. He'd heard of this kind of thing and Mystan would know better than anyone else he had access to how to undo it. "It's not lethal. Someone wanted the crew incapacitated, but not killed. I estimate his body will recover naturally in a few hours."

Nitro nodded and passed this information on the Darkling ship. They would continue on through the Vast Belly, and investigate some more. It was possible that this was an isolated case, but such a devastating attack would explain why the ship was just hanging in space. Was the intruder still around? That was the question that lurked in his head. It didn't seem likely, as they hadn't found any signs of other ships in the immediate area. "Can you block an attack?" he asked, opening doors as they went.

A female Graviton, her hair almost as tall as she was wide, had obviously been up on a ladder, as she lay sprawled at the base, arm twisted awkwardly. He didn't envy her when she woke up. "It depends on how powerful they are. Hmm... Same as the other. Very efficient of them." Nitro didn't like the note of admiration in his voice, but let it slide. They would need to see the bridge, find out if the scanners had picked up anything.

* * *

Stepping into his office, a pile of paper collected from his secretary, Cameo settled at his desk. Behind him, visible through the large window, was the primary landing area for the city of Lunis. As it usually was, it was bustling with activity. There were cargo ships being unloaded, a squadron of fighters refuelling, a passenger ship was waiting for some last stragglers. Everything seemed so normal, which made him feel proud that he seemed to be doing a good job. He supposed, strictly speaking, that the passenger ship and cargo freighter weren't his department, but he technically outranked the man in charge of the space port.

He skimmed through the paperwork. There was a formal request for the promotion of one of the pilots. His squad had lost their second in command and the pilot in question was the best they had. It sounded plausible, and he figured he should trust the squad leader's recommendation. They would also need a new pilot to fill the vacant slot. He made a note on a pad to look into the training facility and see if there were any solo pilots around.

There was a reminder that an Icewalker squad was going to be doing training exercises near the Royal Moon, as well as an invitation to a banquet being held for Luna's advisors. While Cameo enjoyed many things, being at these formal gatherings was rather tiring. All in all he figured it was much more pleasant to hang out in a more relaxed and casual environment.

"Cameo?" Erillis, his secretary, timidly knocked on the door. He saw her hand shaking and knew that there was something wrong. "There's a transmission on line two for you. I'll get your ship ready."

He swallowed hard. Something so bad that she would make sure his personal ship was fuelled and ready to go. He activated his viewer and saw a Darkling's face on the monitor. There was a time delay of about an hour, but that didn't matter. The subject matter spoke volumes. An incident on the 'Vast Belly'. Found lifeless in space. Unknown attacker. More reports to follow.

Time seemed to slow for Cameo as a million questions raced through his head. He wasn't the president of the Psychro fan club by any stretch, but he was family and he could be charming when the mood struck him. Psikaris, on the other hand... Siblings were naturally close, twins more so, but those two fit the description to a tee. If anything had happened to Psychro it would be devastating to 'Karis.

Sprinting out the door, Cameo raced to his waiting ship. Erillis had even arranged for a trio of smaller fighters to escort him out, and a pilot to fly it. His ship held four people, and was the newest model. Heavily armoured but exceedingly quick, only the best for someone of his standing. The engine had already been primed, so all Cameo had to do was put on his safety harness and they were off.

* * *

"No need to check this one," Nitro said as they approached the bridge. A Psion lay across the hall in a pool of his own blood. Most of the blood, he assumed, came from the heavy ceiling tile that had landed on him. There was also a streak of blood, probably from the Psion, across the top of the tile.

Mystan pushed past Nitro, and knelt by the man. "On the contrary. This is exactly what we need. I know you don't trust me, but you're going to need to here. I don't have much time so I'll explain quickly. When a person dies, there's a window where someone can still read their mind. I'm going to project the thoughts into both of our heads."

He was right. Nitro didn't trust him. This smelled of a nasty trick, and he really didn't want any part of it. What if he was telling the truth, though, what if there was a way to see what had happened. Certainly it would be useful to see. Mystan didn't wait for permission. Suddenly Nitro's mind was bombarded with images.

* * *

He was in the mess hall, feeling a wave of disgust over the menu selections. There seemed to be grease in everything, including the water. And the alcohol choice was beer. Luckily he had come prepared and kept a small bottle of wine in his room for emergency. He would need it, too. A trio of Gravitons were being boisterous, telling crude jokes. "How is a woman like a chicken? They are both delicious smothered een gravy!" one shouted to the raucous laughter of his mates.

The laughing stopped. He looked up and saw that the trio had collapsed. People at other tables began collapsing. Instantly a mental shield went up, it was buffeted against by some unseen force, but it held. He stood from his seat and stared around the room. Everyone was out, some kind of mental assault. He might be able to revive them but... The captain! He needed to know what was happening. Praying that he wasn't too late he sprinted through the halls, past the occasional body. He was going to be too late.

Another corner, up the elevator, wishing that the damned thing would move faster. His mind told him that there had to be invaders on board. Who and how many? The door hissed open and he looked down the long hall to the bridge. No one yet. That was a positive sign. Further he ventured, there was no noise coming from the bridge. Slowly he opened the door and saw three Gravitons and the girl, the Darkling/Tiger, on the ground. So, the mental assault had happened here too, as he'd feared.

Nothing but to revive as many as he could and hope for the best. A noise. The sound of a door opening and closing, along with a pair of voices. He turned, saw the pair. A Psion and a Darkling. "The girl's in there. I'll take care of this one," the Psion said.

"You'll have to get past me first," he replied. Fire blossomed from his fingertips. His pyrokinesis wasn't as good as some, but it was all he had.

"Not much of challenge," the Darkling said. The corridor went pitch black, even with the fire, and he cursed. He tried to direct the fire in the direction that he had seen the pair, but had the air knocked out of him by something large. Whatever it was had him pinned on his stomach and was crushing him slowly. Ribs cracked, his lungs were punctured. This wasn't how he wanted to die. The darkness vanished and the Darkling stepped on whatever it was that held him. Blood burbled from his lips. He coughed and more blood flecked the steel floor. The Darkling walked across him again, this time carrying the Darkling/Tiger over his shoulder. He didn't see anything else as his eyes began to close.

* * *

Nitro staggered backwards, his back hitting the wall. To experience death like that was highly unnerving. He straightened himself and decked Mystan. "Don't you ever do something like that again," he snarled. No matter how useful the information was, it was still a violation of his mind. He made a note to let Luna know what had happened so that there might be further punishment.

"We got what we needed, didn't we?" Mystan sneered.

He didn't bother responding. There wasn't any point, it would only fan Mystan's ego to admit that he was right. "I didn't recognize them. Did you?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Not at all, and I know many of the powerful Psions. When I get back to the home moon I'll pass the images around." Nitro contacted the Darkling ship to let them know, adding that Mystan would gratefully pass the image to them too. Perhaps there was an artist on board who might be able to copy it down.

All that was left was to take the ship back to Lunar space and see if they could figure out why the girl had been targetted.

* * *

"Anymore pick ups today?" Captain Shiner asked, not bothering to turn as Drell stepped on to the command deck. In a semi-circle around him, his minions went about their duties. They weren't the greatest in the galaxy, but they were cheap slave labour. Not that he particularly cared, but he suspected that their species had originally come from Plundarr. They resembled, somewhat the Jackalmen that he'd seen there, anyway.

"No. We got what we came for. Just take us to our ship and we'll give you the other half of your money," Drell replied. The mercenary captain smiled broadly. Money made him happy, and for such easy work too. This particular Lunatak had enlisted his help a number of times to ambush unwary ships, and all he had to do was be a distraction from the real danger. Otherwise he was a glorified chauffeur.

He gave the order to his men, to swing around and rendezvous with a ship orbiting the sixth planet in the Plundarr system.

* * *

Cameo skimmed the reports as they came in. The Darkling captain, a Nightwave, was being very thorough in his updates. It sounded like Nitro was piloting the Graviton freighter to establish a meeting sooner. So far, though it was far from confirmed yet, there was only one fatality and one person missing, with no news at all about Psychro. That was a positive sign, wasn't it? There was hope that he was still alive?

No. He couldn't afford to think like that. While there was personal investment in the situation, Cameo had to remain focussed. Black Tiger had family. The Psion who had perished also had family. Each and every single one of those people on that ship had families and friends who cared whether they got home safely, not just Psychro.

He had, however, avoided sending a transmission back to Psikaris, telling himself that he didn't want to unduly upset her until he knew for certain. He was scared, and deep down wanted to be there in person when he told her. But he also had a duty to find out what was happening in his jurisdiction. Cameo ran a hand through his white hair and glanced up through the window. In the distance he could make out the two large ships headed his way.

* * *

How much time had passed? Psychro tried to gauge based on gut feelings. By now, surely, someone had noticed their absence. He couldn't have gone from the mess hall to here without someone knowing. And what about Black Tiger? She had been heading to the bridge. Had she made it there?

Which meant there was a strong chance that Psikaris knew. That wasn't going to be good. He knew her. She would stress herself over it, which would be compounded by her pregnancy. She would worry herself sick, and would desperately need Cameo to be an anchor for her emotions.

Cameo. He could get free, and all he had to do was betray Cameo. Except that wasn't an option. Even if Psychro were inclined to believe that Myrik would let him go in exchange he couldn't do it. He had enough pride that he wouldn't let anyone else take the fall to save his own neck. Psychro wasn't overly fond of Cameo, but he'd started to accept him, to trust that he would take care of his sister.

And what of Psikaris? If Cameo were captured, what would they do if they found his bond mate with him? They would probably take her too, make her work in their mines or kill her outright. If hybrid children were their sticking point, then they probably wouldn't allow another two to be brought into the world. That settled that for sure. Even if he was willing to let them take Cameo, there was no way in hell that Psychro would allow his little sister to be captured as well, and if they did hurt her, there was no limit to the wrath he would wreak.

* * *

Watching the door wasn't very exciting. Black Tiger had seen Mind Grind taken away about an hour ago. She tried asking the half Cheetah about it, but had only been answered with tear-reddened eyes and a cryptic "I feel so sorry for you." It didn't quite inspire confidence. She turned to look at her room mate. She was quiet, staring at her knees which were tucked up to her chest. She wore a simple dark blue outfit, but her Cheetah features were prominent. Black Tiger had to look closely to see the Psion features, but once she saw them, they were obvious.

She wondered what the woman had gone through already to be so defeated. Then again, knowing nothing about her, maybe she was always like this. Maybe her life was one long sequence of this kind of thing. Her own childhood had been uneasy. Life on the Dark Moon of Plundarr was tough, even for the natives. The thick jungles teemed with life, a lot of it bent on eating you, and only the frequent patrols kept the creatures from venturing too close to the cities.

The Darklings were much like their cousins on the other moons; they despised outsiders, and breeding with them was considered abhorrent. In fact, of all the moons they were probably the most closed-minded, seconded by the Psions. Black Tiger remembered her childhood being full of intolerance and hatred. It was one of the reasons she had delved into writing, it was an escape. Many of her early works were horribly written, involving heroines who resembled her or a dashing Darkling man who didn't care about her background.

It was her father who showed that there was goodness in her kin. Stalker, now commander of the military forces on Third Earth, had loved her regardless of who she was. He made sure that his home was a sanctuary of love and peace, even going so far as to force family members to leave if they couldn't accept her.

But what if the half Cheetah hadn't had that kind of stabilizing force? Is this what she would look like if her father hadn't been the man he was? The other woman caught her staring. "What?" It was less a question than a statement.

"Sorry. I just wondered who you were. Doesn't look like we've got many friends around here," she replied.

"Friends? Wait until it's your turn to go through that door. You'll see what friends await you." There was a long silence and the Psi-Cheetah turned her attention back to her knees. Black Tiger resigned herself to ignorance until she spoke again. "Look, it's been a long day. You deserve better. The name's Chedra. A word of advice when they do come for you. Don't fight it. You can't win."

The woman, Chedra apparently, pulled her leggings up over the knee to reveal the start of large bruises, wincing in pain as she did so. Black Tiger gasped at the sight and fresh horror filled her throat.

As though on cue, the door opened. Mind Grind, his shirt in tatters and a thin trickle of blood coming from his nose, stumbled in. A Darkling pointed at her, in a manner that suggested he wasn't going to ask twice. Chedra's words echoing through her head, the evidence of what might await her, Black Tiger stood and followed reluctantly behind the man. "Remember what I said," Chedra called, as the door slammed shut.

* * *

Cameo stood on the bridge of the Darkling ship, the lights brought to an acceptable level for his sake, with Nitro and the two captains. Mystan had long been taken back to his holding cell, once his testimony had been given. Nitro had been asked to stay at Cameo's behest, given his significant rank on the Ice Moon. The Icewalker was also friends with Luna, and his opinion would carry some weight, especially since Cameo didn't trust his own opinions at the present time.

The crew had awakened a little quicker than anticipated, and a passenger manifest had revealed the three disappearances. What did it mean? Had someone been targeting only the non-Gravitons onboard? Why kill Sirilus but capture Mind Grind, Black Tiger, and Psychro? But then, Sirilus hadn't been the target, he had gotten in the way, which meant that if he hadn't blocked the assault that he might be alive.

They might not have images of the attackers either. "We'll contact Third Earth and let them know we're going to be delayed," the Graviton captain said.

"We'll let you go as soon as we can. Third Earth needs those supplies," Cameo assured him. But he wasn't thinking of that. He was thinking of the four other calls that would need to be made. Families to be informed. Including the woman who was waiting for him on the Royal Moon. "I'll also talk to Luna about increasing patrols in the system, check to see if there are reports of other abductions, and the like. We also need to track down the Vertis. They might not have been involved, but they might have seen something."

"And then we wait for ransom demands," Nitro said, startling Cameo. There was an angle he hadn't considered. Certainly Black Tiger and Psychro had connections with higher ranked people, Mind Grind might too. It was worth looking into.

There was another connection, something which niggled at the back of his head. A report had come across his desk about a disappearance off the Royal Moon. A woman had collapsed in a shop and awakened to find her date missing. He'd been a Graviton/Psion, which was disturbingly fitting the other pattern. "Were there any others on your ship who were hybrid Lunataks?" he asked.

"No. None at all. You theenk that's what they were looking for?" the Graviton asked.

"Anything is possible, but that's very likely. All right, let's get back to the Royal Moon. We'll stick together just in case whoever it is still in the area." Cameo turned and headed back to his ship. He swallowed hard as a grim realization hit; if the enemy was in the area, then there was only one person who matched their criteria. Himself.

* * *

She was led a few doors down to a simple room. It consisted of a bunk bed along one wall a table, two chairs, and a computer terminal. The telepath she'd seen earlier was there, and he seemed to smile a predatory smile. He gestured to the unoccupied chair and Black Tiger sat on it. The Darkling who had brought her in stood, blocking the exit. There was something about that one, a strange look in his dark eyes. Something that said he didn't want to be around for whatever was about to happen. This alone made her grateful he was there and gave her some measure of hope.

The telepath brought her attention back to him by activating the computer. He tapped a few keys, and regarded her closely. What was he doing? Was he reading her mind? Was she expected to say something? He typed a little more and then leaned back in his chair. "My name is Myrik, I'll be conducting your interview. Much of this is a formality really, we know a lot about you. State your name and parents. Species, age, gender."

Chedra had said not to resist, besides it sounded like it was all information they already knew. "I'm Black Tiger. My father is Stalker and my mother is Tygrine. I'm a seventeen year old Darkling/Tiger girl."

"Ah yes. That was quite the scandalous marriage, wasn't it Raven?" Myrik asked, glancing over his shoulder. Raven spat on the floor in response. "He doesn't say very much. Now, what are your abilities?"

"My what?" she hesitated. He took her hand in his and traced the palm with a sharp fingernail.

"Tigers can often create illusions, Darklings can control the dark among other things. They both involve bending light. What watered down version do you have?"

His fingernail was distracting her, and more than a little unnerving. Chedra and Mind Grind had both been physically assaulted. She was likely to receive similar. It was just a question of when and in what manner. "Why does that matter? You blocked our powers," she said before she could stop herself. The nail dug into her tender skin and she cried out as her blood began to seep around his embedded finger.

"Answer the question, little one. Sometimes you genetic mistakes prove useful enough to keep away from the radiation. It might extend your life, so I ask again, what are your abilities?" he asked.

She wanted to yank her hand away, but suspected that would only make things worse. "I can change the light around me a little. Make it brighter or darker." He let go of her hand but stared hard at her when she tried to tend to it.

Black Tiger felt him in her head, she couldn't think of a better way to describe it. "There. I removed the block. Show me." Like lightning her mind questioned whether this was a trick. It had to be, didn't it? And yet she saw the price of disobedience. Carefully, though she preferred to keep this man within sight, she closed her eyes and concentrated. She'd been encouraged to try and harness the power, to test its limits. Her father had always said that it might grow stronger when she got older, but she'd seen little evidence. She opened her eyes and found that it was a little brighter, like flicking on an extra light bulb.

The room returned to normal as he put the mental block back in place. "Useless power. Raven, show her how it's done." The room went pitch black, all light swallowed up. She tried to pick out even the crack of the door, but nothing. She jerked her head to the side. Someone was moving around. Her heart hammered in her chest, fear beginning to mount. What was he going to do to her. How did one brace for a blow that could come from any direction. Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders, the shock of it causing her to scream. Light returned and she heard Myrik laughing. "Healthy set of lungs, but it was worth it. You see what a true blooded Darkling can do. And so focussed that he was able put the area of darkness just over your eyes. Compared to him, you're pathetic. I just have a few more questions for you, then."

* * *

It was a graceless tumble. Black Tiger hit the floor just inside the doorway and rolled over onto her back to stare helplessly at the closing door. Myrik had been neither patient nor gentle as she found herself increasingly unable to answer his questions. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know her father's passwords or top secret information about the company he kept. Myrik had learned that she was a writer, one of her few joys, and threatened to break her hands completely if she didn't co-operate.

She stared at her hands, tiny pin pricks marred each finger tip, in addition to the gouge in the palm. When he saw that physical intimidation wasn't going to get him answers, mostly because she didn't have them, he had gotten rid of her. She wondered why, if he was so powerful, that he didn't just read her mind. It didn't make sense, but then she figured he got a sick thrill out of torture. Chedra glanced over somewhat sympathetically, and returned to staring at her legs. Mind Grind was asleep. His head was turned and she could see a faint discolouration on his scalp.

Black Tiger wondered about the connection. Myrik went after body parts that the victim valued. A Cheetah, even a half-Cheetah, would value their legs, they liked speed and being without their usage would cause unhappiness. On herself she was a writer, she needed her hands to execute her craft. That was why he had threatened to take them away. It was a crazy theory, and one she couldn't quite associate with Mind Grind, though she supposed his Psion half might make him inclined to enjoy his brain. Assuming she was right, what would Myrik do to Psychro?

* * *

Alone at last, Myrik shut down the computer and settled on his bunk. It wouldn't be a long trip to their ship, nor from the ship to their base, but he figured he had a chance for some relaxation. Drell would want a progress report, and he'd probably grouse about the inefficiency of Myrik's methods. The difference was that he always got the desired results in the end, and got some personal satisfaction out of it too.

Besides, a lot of the money that was coming in was thanks in part to Myrik. Back on the Psion Moon he had managed to accrue wealth. He donated enough money to the high priests to keep the politicians from looking too closely into his activities. Activities which Drell had stumbled across one evening. Neighbours for a long time, Drell found Myrik disposing of a prostitute. Instead of turning him in to the authorities, Drell had suggested turning his attentions to those more worthy of Myrik's attentions.

Half-breeds, disgusting creatures, good for little other than menial labour and the occasional bed warmer. In fact, there was one waiting for him back at their base. A young Psion Tiger cross. Torture always seemed to arouse him, and dealing with such specimens made him eager to return home.

It was Psychro's fault. Myrik tended to prefer women, but the occasional male excited him too. Certainly sex would be a weapon against Psychro, but he needed to prolong it with that one. There was little doubt in his mind that Psychro would be his in the end, but a man like that was so much more enjoyable when they were willing and submissive. Breaking him would be difficult, but fun.

* * *

Were he so inclined, Mystan would acknowledge a certain amount of indignity at being shunted off to his prison cell. He had been useful, had done as he'd been asked. But then he was accustomed to such brutish behaviour from the lesser moons, and weightier issues were going round and round in his mind. This jaunt had been nothing more than a brief reprieve from his sentence. His brain would be altered soon, his powers cut off completely.

The Psion in Sirilus' vision was also a quandary. Who was he? He certainly seemed to have a reasonable amount of power. While Mystan was largely a telekinetic, he knew of telepaths who would have difficulty accomplishing what had been done. Perhaps he augmented his powers. The Psion people had long learned how to harvest psionic energy from the brains of the deceased, perhaps this one had something similar. He decided that one of his first acts upon arrival on the moon would be to give a complete report. If they could assist in this investigation, it might earn the favour of the crown, after all.

* * *

Still standing impassively, watching each of his men in turn, Captain Shiner spared the briefest of glances on Drell. "Your ship," he noted, gesturing with his head to the view screen. Indeed, the nondescript Graviton transport vessel was visible and clearly ready to receive its owners.

"Excellent. The other half of your payment is on the ship. We'll give it to you when we unload our cargo," Drell replied.

"What cargo?" Captain Shiner tapped the side of his nose. Just because he knew what was happening didn't mean he had to acknowledge that it had. The Psion chuckled and nodded his agreement.

* * *

"Wakey, wakey," the sing song voice called out. Groggily Psychro opened his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his hand. He wasn't even aware of having fallen asleep. The journey and the stress must have been more overwhelming than he'd thought. As his eyes focussed he realized it was Myrik in the room, come to fetch him personally. He stood, feigning obedience, and then lunged. His fist cracked against the Psion's jaw, sending him reeling for a second. It felt good. Frustration and anger had been locked away for too long.

It had also been too long since he'd been involved in a physical confrontation. While he preferred the bar room brawl, he'd been known to take part in the odd official combat. He closed the gap between himself and Myrik, intent on making his face unrecognizable. No one messed with him or his family and got away with it. But he found he couldn't move. It happened so suddenly that Psychro didn't feel the mental intrusion. "A feisty one, eh?" Myrik rubbed his cheek. "I underestimated you. That won't happen again. Come along, we have a shuttle to catch."

His limbs began moving of their own accord. Walking behind the disgusting Lunatak. The very act was a taunt, baring his back to the captive, a back that he would gladly ram a knife into if he had the opportunity.

"Such a lack of creativity," Myrik said over his shoulder. "Believe me. You'll be thinking differently by the time I'm through."

* * *

Cameo's ship peeled off from the rest as the Royal Moon came into view. "That's right, Beero. We're doing everything we can to find your brother. I promise you, on my honour," Cameo said. His second transmission done. It wasn't easy. He'd decided to contact Tycho, governor of Third Earth, and asked him to relay the necessary message to Stalker. He also asked the man if there had been any disappearances there. He wasn't sure how far a reach this group had, but the sooner he got any information, the better. That left two more. One more trial run before the challenge of telling his bond mate about her brother. "This is Cameo of House Mymekon, captain of the royal fleet to the Psion Moon. I need to speak with the kin of Sirilus Psiman..."

* * *

Black Tiger's gasped when she saw Psychro being brought into the little room. Like she, Chedra, and Mind Grind had been, he was shackled to the bench they were sitting on. He didn't look worse for wear, certainly none of the bruising or signs of beatings. Then again, she supposed that she wouldn't if her theory was right, if they had targeted his groin.

She didn't know why he had been kept apart from them. But then, what had Myrik said? That sometimes their lives could be prolonged if they were deemed useful. Was Psychro in that category perhaps? Given the way Myrik stared at them, she didn't think that longer life was worth the price. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I've been better," he replied. "I'm sorry I got you in to this."

Her temper flared for an instant. He was the cause of all this? She shook in her chains. "You piece of Mutant droppings," she snapped.

Myrik's hearty chuckle reminded her that she wasn't alone. "How noble. Don't fool yourself, Psychro. It's only a matter of time until all these genetic freaks are our slaves. If it wasn't today, it would be tomorrow. In fact, we've got another group leaving tomorrow." For some reason Myrik found that incredibly funny and she tried to refocus her anger. Even if Psychro was responsible, he certainly hadn't intended it. He seemed contrite enough. No, the source of her misery was the one standing across from her with the goofy grin plastered on his face.

Some day, she swore, she would get free. Then she would see who was laughing.

* * *

On the Psion Moon, Mystan gazed at the gorgeous city of his birth. A moon comprised mostly of desert, the capital sprawled around a large lake. In the centre of the lake was the temple, the seat of power on the moon. It was also his destination. There were no escorts waiting for him, no guards. They knew, all Psions knew, that resisting the will of the high priests was tantamount to resisting the will of the gods. He would be there, they knew, and he didn't bother delaying the inevitable. Calmly he walked through the streets, watching with pleasure as people bowed out of his way.

* * *

Elsewhere, Nitro had an draped over the shoulders of both his female companions. He had been away from home for too long. There were a few minor affairs to take care of, but he intended to keep informed on what was going on with the investigation. Although he didn't care much for the boy, he did have a son with mixed race heritage, and no one threatened his family or his people.

* * *

The apartment was quiet when Cameo entered. Things were neat and organized, by and large. Psikaris had obviously felt inclined to do some cleaning as her stack of mechanical magazines had been organized. She was in her workshop, her home within her home. Some kind of device lay in pieces, the victim of a broken propellor. There was a small box of purple and green jellied tarts that she had acquired a taste for. They came from the Psion moon and contained a sweet berry and fish mixture. He couldn't stand the things, but they were considered a delicacy.

"You're home early," she commented, taking the time to put a screwdriver away before turning to meet his face. He might as well have written the news on his face with a magic marker. "Oh no. What's wrong? Something's happened to Psychro, hasn't it?"

"'Karis. We don't know." He took her hand and helped her off the stool and into the livingroom. As he helped her down to the couch he continued. "He's been abducted, along with a few others. I've got plenty of theories with very few details..."

As he told the story, explaining everything he knew, he watched her reactions. She wrapped her arms around his waist, body shaking heavily, her head buried in the crook of his neck. "I promise you. I am going to do everything in my power to bring him home safely," he said. "And whoever did this will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. In the meantime, I'm going to arrange for personal security, for both of us. If someone *has* been going through the bother of abducting hybrids then they might try something on us too."

She tilted her head to meet his determined gaze. "Thank you," she managed. It came out as a whisper, but he understood. He didn't want to lose her, and she felt the same.

Kissing her forehead gently, he reluctantly broke the embrace. There was still plenty of work to do, and little time to do it in if he was going to keep his word. He activated the view screen. "This is Cameo. I need to speak to Luna. It's bad news."


	2. Chapter 2

Purification by Jonathan Prideaux  
Chapter 2

The chains around his wrists chafed, and Psychro wondered just how many unfortunate souls had worn them. He hated the concept of slavery, not just for himself, but others too. But then freedom had always been important to him, as he felt it should be for anyone, no matter what species' blood flowed through their veins. It was a basic desire common to everyone.

At the same time, it was the way it had been for centuries. Lunataks were used to taking planets, subjugating the population, using them for whatever they wanted. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, he wondered about that.

He was still a Lunatak, though, just born from two different moons. His father had been an Icewalker and his mother a Psion. Both were dead now, he thought grimly, but at least they wouldn't be wondering what had happened to their little boy. Psikaris would. The closest member of his family, he adored her more than words could ever express, even more than he had ever loved another living being. And there had been many beings he'd told he loved.

Would he ever experience love of any sort again? Yes. He was sure that this was not going to be the end of his life. He would figure out a way out of this place, wherever they were going, and free the others. A sudden feeling of weight hit him, a feeling of weighing significantly more than he had moments before. The Graviton Moon. They must have entered the atmosphere. It wasn't too bad once your body got used to the extra gravity. But at least now he knew roughly where he was. He had contacts across the moon, people who would be more than willing to help. Good, then. That was one question answered.

The ship seemed to continue to descend for a while, before coming to a halt. He caught Myrik staring at them intently. What was his game? Why was he in this? Footsteps, raised voices. Realization dawned. Inspectors. It was customary for someone from the space port to inspect all incoming ships. He started to cry out as the voices came closer but found his mouth unwilling to make a sound. Myrik. The wretched telepath was controlling his thoughts, preventing him from calling for help.

As the footsteps faded away, the Psion stood and walked over to them. "We've been given clearance to head to our base of operations. It really is a shame the inspector didn't recognize the false wall, isn't it. The four of you will be taken to your new homes. Chedra and Black Tiger will follow Raven. Mind Grind, you will follow Drell. Psychro, you're all mine. You might as well say your goodbyes, because I don't think you'll be seeing any of them again." Myrik tapped on the door and it slid open. Their Icewalker guard entered first and freed the prisoners one by one.

Though Psychro wanted to fight, he couldn't. His muscles refused to co-operate as he watched the trio slowly walk out of the room. "Do I have to do this the hard way?" Myrik asked, stepping aside. Psychro shook his head. He was beaten. For now.

* * *

"This isn't really your department, you know." Cameo stared briefly at the Darkling woman on his monitor. It was a common refrain from the local law enforcement people, and he was starting to get tired of it. Truthfully, they were right. He was 'captain of the fleet' and not a law enforcement officer. But since the latest incident, and two more that had been reported, had happened in the space ways it sort of was. More to the point, Queen Luna herself had agreed to give him licence to handle the investigation. He recalled the conversation well, she had been insinuated that she wouldn't be able to get any other work out of him anyway so he might as well handle it.

She also wanted him to work with another high ranking official who would be less biassed in the matter. If the scope of it turned out to be as vast as he suspected then he might not be able to keep his temper in check. Cameo had recommended Nitro, as he was already versed in the events and had a mental image of their prime suspects. "Luna made it my department, so feel free to file a complaint with the queen," he said, as calmly as he could.

"I will. The Dark Moon has always handled its own affairs. For the time being I'll transmit the data," the woman said. She shut off the communication from her end. True to her word, though, recent missing persons reports began coming in.

Cameo rubbed his temples. For the time being he was operating out of his home, his home terminal was as good as any in the empire, and he felt a little better knowing that Psikaris was safe. He skimmed the data as quickly as he could, marking the ones that might be relevant and crossing out others. Most of the moons were being largely co-operative. Justice was justice, and if Lunataks were harming other Lunataks then most seemed content to be on the side of the throne in the matter.

Another hybrid crossed his eyes. This one last seen going into a restaurant's bathroom. A Darkling/Avian cross. The waiter initially thought they had skipped out on a bill but found that the victim's wallet was still in his coat pocket at the table. That brought the possible total of missing hybrids to sixty-four. Of course, there were plenty of non-hybrids who might have been taken by the same group, and doubtless there were many others that hadn't been reported.

He tapped a few buttons on his console and his secretary's face appeared. "Any luck finding the Vertis yet?" he asked.

"Nothing yet, sir. Still working on it." He heard the concern and smiled wanly to let her know it was appreciated.

"Thanks. Keep me informed." He stretched and walked across the room to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of juice. He was at a bit of a stalemate. There were only a handful of probable connections, and the local law enforcement had run into dead-ends on each one. The truth was, whoever was behind this was very good. Sirilus' catching them had been their first slip up. He wondered what the ship logs on the other two vessels would say, and what Captain Shiner knew.

* * *

The craft lurched as it came to a rest for a second time. Standing with the other prisoners at the door, Black Tiger watched nervously as it opened. They'd arrived at some kind of warehouse. Crates were stacked around, along with a few barrels. The nearest set of crates appeared to have been moved aside to reveal a trap door. There was a flight of stairs leading down, guarded at the top and bottom by gun wielding Gravitons. "Take a last look through the window. That's the last time any of you will see the sun," Myrik said with delight.

Black Tiger looked where he was pointing. At the top of the warehouse were a series of windows, with the sun blazing through. It warmed the building to an almost stifling degree, and was a little bright for her preference. Darklings lived on a moon where the jungle cover barely allowed for any light to seep through. Her people had become accustomed to it, and developed infrared vision in exchange.

A none-too-gentle shove by Raven propelled her towards the trap door. Chedra already walked ahead of her, taking the steps one by one, reluctantly descending beneath the surface. When they all reached the bottom of the stairs the trap door slammed shut, and dimly she could hear the crates being moved back over top. Overhead lights lit up the tunnel then, showing a heavy vault door. "Ingenious, isn't it?" Myrik said, as they crossed into the vault. File cabinets lined one wall, and a desk and chair sat on the same side. "On the off chance an inspector finds this room they'll think it's where we keep our old records. So your hopes of being saved are non-existent." He gestured to one of the guards and the floor began to sink lower.

After about a minute of steady lowering a door appeared. Beyond it was a smooth rocky tunnel that branched quickly in two directions. It was here that Psychro and Myrik went in separate directions. They took a hall that seemed to have been covered and plastered. There was carpet on the floor, and Black Tiger thought she saw artwork hanging up. For her, Chedra and Mind Grind there were no creature comforts. They were led to a wide open area that was filled with guards. They wore heavy gold uniforms, with black markings on the chest to denote rank. One with a peculiar star pattern on his received documentation from Drell and skimmed over it.

The single door out of this security checkpoint opened and they were ushered into a narrow corridor. It was in this corridor that Drell and Mind Grind peeled off from the remaining three, passing through into a large room. Raven urged her to continue with a second shove. She knew that she and Chedra could take out Raven if they worked together, but they would never get past the guards, especially the way Chedra was hobbling. And even if they ran past they might not be able to figure out how to get to the surface. A short walk, maybe forty feet or so, they came to another door. Raven deactivated a force field over this one and gestured. "Your new home. You'll get to work on the next rotation."

This room was sparse. Thin mattresses dotted the floor. A plain stone table where, she supposed, they would eat their meals, and a curtained area for washroom facilities. A handful of women were sleeping on the mattresses. Black Tiger saw one Icewalker/Jackalman cross who appeared to be dead, so thin and frail, and then she coughed. That would be her in two or three months, the bleak thought arrived. Not knowing what else to do, she followed Chedra over to a pair of unoccupied mattresses and settled down. Softly she began to cry.

* * *

The corridor went for several feet, made a sharp turn, and Psychro began seeing doors. Myrik prodded him onwards across the soft carpeting. Though he didn't have much time to appreciate them, he saw the artwork along the walls. Fancy landscape portraits and images of battles. A collection of Jackalmen playing some sort of card game hung across that of a prostrate mixed race woman.

At the end of this corridor was another security checkpoint with eleven doors. Ten were blocked by force fields, three had occupants in them already and a fourth stood open for him. Psychro had a funny feeling that he didn't want to know what was through the last door, but that he would find out. "This is where we keep our special prisoners," Myrik explained, as casually as if he were talking about his lunch. Psychro noticed that the three were casting furtive glances towards the Psion, hoping to somehow avoid his gaze. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable. I'll be by later to see you. If you have a change of heart, just let these fine gentlemen know."

Psychro counted the guards. Two Gravitons, a Darkling and a Royal. Five on one weren't good odds, and four wouldn't be much better when Myrik left. He would get out, somehow. Quietly he stepped into his cell, consisting only of a pail and a bed.

* * *

"We deedn't think anything of eet," a stout Graviton, and weren't they all, named Beef Teeth said. One of the ships that had experienced a similar blackout had already left for Third Earth, but this senior crew member had requested shore leave to attend a family wedding. Graviton weddings were lavish affairs, almost a week long affair of feasting, dancing and more alcoholic beverages than one could shake a stick at. "We all fell asleep. When we woke up we found that one of the escape pods was missing, and so was Kraedon. We assumed he just deedn't want to be stopped. We never figured out how he knocked all out, though."

"And you didn't detect any other ships in the area?" Cameo asked.

"I don't theenk so. Sorry?"

"Don't worry about it, Beef Teeth." That didn't help much. Either their attacker was already on the ship, was on a very small ship nearby, or their assumption about this Kraedon was accurate. "What do you know about this Kraedon? Family background and such."

"He's only half Graviton, the other half ees Psion, but he seemed like a nice guy. I deedn't get to talk to him very much. Kept to himself for the most part. I theenk he was going to Third Earth to help with building a new power plant," the Graviton said.

"You've been very helpful. Thanks," Cameo said, making notes. He'd chosen a very public café for the meeting, with his security detail nearby keeping watch. He hated having to take all these precautions for his personal safety, but it was necessary. But realistically they couldn't protect every single hybrid on the moons. The Lunatak population on the whole numbered in the millions. How many people were out there that had mixed heritage?

He glanced again at his watch. Nitro had promised to come as soon as he could. He had some personal business to attend to, he said. He had hoped that it wouldn't take more than an hour or two to sort out. Mentally Cameo did the calculations. Nitro's ship had left the Psion Moon, where the Darkling ship had been headed, three hours ago. The soonest he might be able to get back then was another four. The wait was aggravating, but there was little he could do about it. What he really needed was some good news about the location of the Vertis.

* * *

Mystan reached out with one hand to steady himself against the wall. It felt disorienting, like a piece of him was missing. Toran, the eldest of the high priests, had conducted the psychic block himself. The elders had opened their minds for a communal discussion, and during it he relayed everything that had happened onboard the Vast Belly and his ideas and recommendations. No one recognized the Psion in the image, but all agreed that assisting the investigation would be good for them. As expected, too, they were angered at the thought of such a powerful Psion who was not acting in accordance with their wishes.

But even his news and suggestions were not enough. Mystan had failed them, had embarrassed the Psion people, and upset their god. He had known that nothing would change his fate and accepted their judgement with dignity.

If only he'd known how badly it would affect him. Mystan was so accustomed to using his telekinesis for his day to day activities that not being able to touch it was throwing him off. "We are sorry, Mystan," Toran said aloud. "Perhaps keeping an eye on the proceedings will distract you from your loss."

He raised an eyebrow. Were they asking him to work with Cameo? Another elder, Psipe, nodded. "Nitro of the Icewalkers has been asked to participate. We feel that our moon should be represented as well."

Nitro. It would be that man. He would doubtless take great delight in rubbing in Mystan's loss, knowing that there was little he could do in any kind of a physical confrontation. Still, Nitro wasn't particularly bright, perhaps a more logical mind would be of service. "As you wish," he said, with a bow.

* * *

She dreamed of a happier time, standing in an auditorium, watching her father's promotion ceremony. He'd beamed at her, standing off to the side with the rest of her family. Tycho, then the king, shook his head steadily. The king moved through the family, thanking each for coming. She remembered his radiant smile, the kindness in his face.

Black Tiger's eyes opened, realizing her hand wasn't being shaken but examined by an Icewalker woman whose blue skin colouring was almost a pinkish colour. She looked as haggard as any of the women here, so she must be a prisoner. "It's human," the woman said, catching the curious look. "My mother was with Control. My name's Merma, I was a doctor before..." She looked pained, as though reliving the memory of her capture.

Human. That explained the colouring. Now that she'd said it, Black Tiger could see that the typical white hair that Icewalkers had was a very light yellow. Merma was taking care of the small cuts on her hands. "What's the point?" she asked. "We're going to die anyway."

Merma gazed up at her for a minute and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Not religious, are you? We have to have hope and faith. This many of us going missing? Someone's bound to notice eventually. Help's coming, and I for one intend on being alive when it comes. I've got family out there somewhere, they need me, and I want to see them again. Now, I've been here two weeks, so I should give you a heads up on what's about to happen. The first rotation is almost done, so the guards will usher us all into the hall. We walk single file to wherever they think there's Caramium. We mine until we drop. There are no breaks, no talking, nothing but work. Some of the guards are more strict than others. Some are just looking for an excuse. And whatever you do, don't draw attention to yourself. There're worse fates here than a beating."

As Merma finished her ministrations, the door opened and guards clad in gold outfits, covering their bodies head to toe, entered. "That's to protect them from the radiation, the bastards," she whispered.

"All right. Rotation 2. On your feet," a distinctly Icewalker voice announced. Black Tiger nervously stood and followed her fellow women out the door. Sure enough she saw a group of haggard looking women huddled along the wall. They were exhausted, and two of them were bleeding from fresh wounds. She was led at a brisk pace through tunnels and eventually divided into a group of three. She didn't know either the woman or the man assigned to them and she wouldn't have a chance to find out. The man, a Graviton crossed with a Lion, was handed a pickaxe while the two women were given the task of removing the rubble and searching for the pale blue crystals.

* * *

Entering his bedroom, Myrik placed his laptop on his desk. It was, he thought, a nicely furnished room. He took the time to water his pair of potted plants, ferns he'd had imported from the Darkling Moon. They didn't need much light, given their place of origin, and seemed to thrive down here. But then, so did he. Out there, in that big world, were people who didn't approve of his hobbies. People were toys to him, curiosities to be used and discarded when he was done with them. A quick glance at the woman in the corner of the room told him that she knew it too. A collar around her neck was secured to the wall by a long chain. It gave her minimal freedom, without giving her ideas.

He crossed over to her and stroked her head. Myrik could sense the hatred, but didn't care. She did as she was told or else she would be sent to the mines, and she knew it well. He'd sent her there for one day, just to show her what could still happen. She was a Psion/Tiger cross he'd seen come through for interrogation. Too delicate to survive long in there, he was captivated by her beauty. She had adjusted to her role so quickly that he had decided to spare her and keep her for his own. He wasn't interested in the carnal yet, though images of Psychro flashed through his head. He poured the rest of the water from his jug into her bowl, the same kind of bowl one would leave out for a pet. One day, he thought, she would snap and try something foolish. He looked forward to it.

"Anything yet?" The voice startled him. His pet hadn't warned him of the visitor, so he backhanded her. Discipline finished, he turned and saw Crackle, the leader of the operation, waiting impatiently by the door. He was a Graviton who seemed wider than any Graviton should be. But then, weight equalled status on this moon.

"We brought three more for the mines, plus Psychro. I've barely started working on him, but I know his type very well. He and I are very alike, in fact. I'll have what you want soon."

"See that you do." Crackle knew better than to demand faster results. They weren't on a strict time table, and he was the best telepath available. While Myrik could, in theory, rip information from his prey, he preferred other methods. Crackle would tolerate the process for now. Myrik knew that there might come a point where he wouldn't be afforded the luxury. He glanced back at Fantasy, rubbing her face and scowling. Myrik had an idea.

* * *

The work was arduous. Though Black Tiger considered herself to be in reasonably good shape, her muscles were protesting loudly. Back on the Dark Moon it was expected that the young people would spend a few days a month out on patrols. The moon was vast, and intruders could be anywhere. She been on a few of these jaunts, had even helped catch a Control officer who had decided to take a pit stop.

She wondered if the woman had been Merma's mother. Black Tiger couldn't remember too much about her anymore, just that she'd been terrified when she realized she was surrounded. Black Tiger was terrified now. The large pieces of rock that her companion was producing were heavy, and she and the Darkling/Psion woman were having difficulty pushing the cart to the refuse pile. She had paused, once, to mop the sweat from her brow and earned a nasty remark from one of the golden suited guards.

The guards were everywhere. Merma was right, some could be strict. The nasty remark was better than what some were getting. Another pair pushing a cart of rock stumbled and their guard fired his weapon at their feet, laughing as they scrambled to keep going. Numbly she scooped up another stone and deposited it in the bin. Her hands ached, the cut on her palm had opened up again, she supposed it always would. Suddenly three months sounded too long. This was no way to live, even if Merma wanted her to keep up her spirits.

* * *

Psychro watched the guards, there was little else to do while in captivity. There were six of them in total. One, bearing the same fancy star shape, was sitting with a book in his hands. Four were playing an elaborate card game, while the last was pacing slowly, peering into each cell as he went. In his mind he imagined breaking free. He would wait until the pacer was in front of his cell, grab the man's gun and shoot for the leader. Without him the others would be a little more disorganized and might buy him an extra second or two.

It wouldn't happen. Not while there was a force field in place. He couldn't see the electronics well enough to even speculate on how it worked or how he might disable it. He couldn't make out the other prisoners very well either. They seemed to be in alternating cells, so only the one furthest from him was entirely visible. It appeared to be a man of some kind, who had moved his bed away from the wall and seemed to be cowering behind it. Hopefully the man was digging an escape tunnel, but Psychro wasn't holding his breath.

The leader of the guards picked up his radio and listened intently for a minute. He stood and gestured to two of the card players to join him. "Step back from the door," he said, staring straight at Psychro with his gun pointed at his chest. Once the force field dropped the other two moved in beside him and took him by the arms. "Myrik wants you brought to his room, poor bastard."

A prisoner whimpered at the name and he wondered what kind of hold Myrik had over these people. He'd seen the injuries on the three others on the shuttle ride over, was it simply fear of assault or more? Certainly a telepath like him would learn easily of your fears. What did Psychro fear? The guards led him down back down the hall he'd come from and stopped in front of a polished door. Myrik's name, now that he looked close, was stencilled on the doorframe. One opened the door while the other two shoved him in. It closed with a click, locking him inside.

* * *

While Mind Grind had experienced pain before, this was excruciating. He thought he was being clever, refusing to work until he spoke to his family, but they had taken him to the security checkpoint, and then the Icewalker had come. The woman, known only as Frostarn, hated hybrids with every fibre of her being. She targeted his left leg while the other guards pinned him down, alternating fire and ice starting with the individual toes and working her way up his tender thigh.

"Scum like you doesn't have family, you don't deserve it. You don't deserve to live, either, but some people happen to think you have a use. I know many unpleasant ways to kill a man, ways that make working in the mines look like a picnic. So if your use to us ends..." her voice trailed off. He nodded vigorously as the guards stepped back. Slowly he got to his feet, the left leg threatening to give way on him. "Send him back to his rotation. If he doesn't keep up, bring him back to me."

* * *

Myrik wasn't in the room, or else he was hiding somewhere, that much was certain. It was almost a little baffling to him. But Psychro wasn't afforded much time to consider this as a purple skinned woman with thick black stripes, caught his attention. She was sitting in the middle of the Psion's bed, looking at him. She was covered, barely, with a robe that hung just loose enough to show her assets. He looked at her curiously. She was obviously another prisoner, but why was she here? "Hey there, the name's Psychro," he said, trying to be pleasant. It was difficult under the circumstances, as his anger simmered beneath the surface, but this woman wasn't the cause of it.

"I'm called Fantasy," the woman replied. She had a beautiful voice, which went with her flawless body, but he caught something in it. Fear. How could anyone harm such a beautiful woman, he wondered, how could someone put such fear into them? Fantasy stretched her arms up wide, causing the robe to scandalously expose a little more of her ample bosom. His eyes stared and he saw the smile on her face. The smile, at least, seemed to be legitimate.

"Where's Myrik?" he asked, and saw an involuntary flinch.

Fantasy bit her lower lip for a second. He could see her thinking, trying to figure out what to do next. "He's not here. He's not going to be, either. Myrik thinks that you and he got off on the wrong foot. He thinks you might be more open to discussion if..." her voice faltered, as though trying to recall his words, "you experienced the pleasures of the flesh."

The concept was mind-boggling. Myrik thought he could be bought off with a beautiful woman? Admittedly, were the circumstances different and she were coming to him of her own free will, he would seriously consider it, but not this way. She crooked a finger at him and patted the bed. "You don't really want this, do you," he said flatly.

Her shoulders drooped. "You are handsome, but this isn't how I do things normally. I prefer to do things properly. Nice restaurant, fine wine, sports car, satin sheets."

And I bet you never pay for any of it, Psychro thought to himself. She was very tempting. But then he thought of Chilla, back on Third Earth. If he indulged, she would be furious. "I'm sorry. You can tell Myrik I declined." He turned for the door, wondering if the guards were still out there. Would they let him out?

He heard the sound of footsteps, running, and saw Fantasy. "No! Please!" she said urgently. The robe had opened completely, and only the situation prevented him from ogling. "Listen, if I fail Myrik he'll punish me. All I have to do is sleep with you, nothing more. I don't have to get you to talk, or anything. Just simple sex." She ran a hand through his hair, trying to pull him in for a kiss.

"Fantasy," he began. She turned away, and he heard a choked sob. His heart went out to her. What had that monster done to her? It was his turn to spin her around to face him, and she buried her face in his chest.

"You don't understand. I can handle it when he's in a good mood, but not when he's angry. I tried to kill myself once and it was the most horrible thing ever. He tore my mind apart with his, making me relive every single painful memory I've ever felt. And then he threatened to do worse. With Myrik, you want the beatings. The bruises heal, but the mental scars never do." She shuddered and pulled her head back. "Don't make me force you."

Bile began to bubble up, fresh hatred for this Myrik. He could see how sincere she was in her words, he knew that she had been through a lot and couldn't bear to make her go through more of it. "Ordinarily, I promise my lovers an incredible night. I don't think that's going to be possible here, but I'll do my best," he assured her, praying that Chilla would understand. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly, tasting the tears on her lips as her supple body pressed against his. He felt her natural warmth contrasted with his cool skin and held her tight.

True to his word, he carried her to the bed and tried every trick he knew. Things that drove average women wild warred against the threat of punishment. Psychro's lips and fingers touched her intimately, neck, breasts, stomach, thighs, vagina, and every point in between. She was close, but not close enough to go over the edge. After what felt like an hour she tugged on his hair. "I don't think it's going to happen," she murmured, smiling wanly to let him know the effort was appreciated. They both knew who was at fault here.

He mounted her, managing to climax, and rolled on to his side. He saw the relief in her face, and brushed her hair back. "When we get out of here, we're trying that again. Properly," she said.

* * *

The streets of Lunis, capital city of the Lunatak empire, were strangely quiet, Cameo thought to himself, or was it his imagination? A flicker of movement down an alley caught his attention, but closer inspection revealed it to be nothing more than a newspaper caught in the gentle breeze. He was reasonably certain that he was safe for the time being. He was flanked by security personnel and out in the open. But then, how many people had been caught by surprise by whomever was doing this?

He was to receive a pair of assistants shortly, too. Nitro and Mystan would be arriving on separate ships. The extra sets of eyes would be nice in a way, but they would hamper him too. Unlike many, Cameo liked working alone. He could do things his way without having to balance the opinions of others. Especially two people who weren't used to taking orders. How would they behave under him?

It didn't matter. Luna had told him to find help, and help was finding him. They would be taking the same ship Nitro was arriving on to rendezvous with Captain Shiner. Word had finally reached the mercenary that the Lunataks wanted to speak with him. He was busy at a Plundarr outpost in the next system, but was amenable to meeting with them.

Cameo reached the space dock, resisting the temptation to see Erillis and pester her for more information. The Royal Lunatak had been so much help lately. She was sympathetic, but he got the vague impression he was annoying her with his frequent calls. Besides, Mystan's ship was arriving. Inspectors were filtering in. Cameo walked straight up to the gathering at the base of the ramp and waited for Mystan to emerge.

The Psion, when he did exit, looked much different. His priesthood robes were gone, replaced with a simpler robe that the average Psion might wear. He looked tired, and he walked with a less confident gait. Still, there was life in him, his logical mind obviously going over the details as he approached. "Once Nitro gets here I'll brief you both. He shouldn't be long."

* * *

The bed was comfortable. Soft and smelling of wild flowers. Psychro stared fixedly at the ceiling, his hand draped loosely over Fantasy's shoulder. Neither saw the need to move, taking comfort in the friendliness of one another. That's all the sex had been. An act between two friends caught in a bad situation. Non-consensual at best, but with no blame towards the other. If they'd met in a bar somewhere, they would likely have found themselves in this very same position.

Chilla would understand. He had unofficially promised to remain completely faithful to her, but these were particular circumstances. As stern as she could be, she would realize that he hadn't done it out of lust or betrayal, he'd done it to spare Fantasy's life. Right, and she would believe that too. Maybe it was better off if he didn't mention this incident.

On the other hand, she would be asking questions. He was scheduled to arrive on Third Earth soon, however many days they'd been here for. She would wonder what had happened, and this would be a difficult detail to leave out.

The door clicked open. For half a second he thought it might be Chilla, but then saw Myrik. He started to get out of bed to attack, but found his limbs unwilling to move again. Fantasy didn't budge, he noticed. Why not? With Myrik's attention on himself, she had the chance. Even with his threats, it had to be eating at her to see him standing there. "Bravo, Fantasy. I'll make sure you're given a little extra food tonight. To your spot." Myrik tossed her the robe she'd shed, as Fantasy crossed to the corner. She didn't move, staring up at him, as he locked her collar back around her throat. Then he turned back to Psychro. "Perhaps I should get one of those for you."

Psychro growled low. "Only if I can choke you with it."

The telepath walked over to the bed and sat next to where Psychro crouched. His muscles quivered, trying to break the telepathic hold, trying to coax them into moving for just a second. "I am hurt. Did you not enjoy my gift? You and I are alike, you know."

The colourful epithet Psychro used, implying that Myrik had the intelligence of a Mutant and suggesting what he thought of the gift, was cut off with a telepathic command. "Now is not the time for you to talk. Like I was saying, we are alike. We both enjoy the natural beauty of a woman, and the pleasures they can give. You give me what I want and I will give you what you want. Dozens of beautiful women, paraded in front of you. You would get your pick of the bunch and live like a king. Better than a king, in fact. Everything your heart desires. Fantasy over there, she's just a sample of the delights that could be yours."

Unable to move or talk, there was nothing he could do but listen. It revolted him being this vulnerable in front of Myrik, and to be so misunderstood. So many knew of the womanizing, but he always hoped that the relationship would be 'the one.' Not that there wasn't a level of temptation in the offer, but Psychro preferred the women come to him voluntarily. What was the point if they didn't. Any idiot could force themself on another living being, but to get them to open up because they wanted to took a gentleman.

"Perhaps you don't yet grasp my offer. I'm going to get what I want either way, why not get something out of it for yourself while you're at it." Myrik leaned close, brushing his lips across Psychro's. "You need to learn your place. Take a tip from Fantasy, I could have her here pleasuring me without complaint, and do you know why? Because she knows that she is a worthless piece of meat and I am her master. She knows that when I'm happy, her life is happy. When I'm mad, she gets hurt. You'll learn that too. Get dressed, the guards will take you back to your cell."

Myrik stood and left the room. As soon as the door closed, the psychic hold released. Psychro bolted for the door but found it locked again. Angrily he overturned Myrik's desk, smashing the assorted decorations. Then he walked over to where Fantasy sat. She looked happy to see such a reaction, perhaps recalling her own days of freedom before her will had been bent. "I promise you. I will get you out of here and we will kill Myrik." He dressed himself and waited for the guards to come.

* * *

"All right, freaks. Back to the barracks." Black Tiger was never so happy to hear four words. She didn't know how long a rotation was, but suspected it was at least eight hours of intense work. She and her two companions and collected a lot of useless rubble and hadn't found any of the Caramium. One of the other teams had found a small quantity, or so she heard one of the guards say. She had, she reflected as she trudged along the corridor, done better than some of the others. More were wounded, including Mind Grind whom she saw a glimpse of before the men and women were separated. Sure, her hand had opened up again but all things considered it wasn't bad. Her muscles would ache in the morning though, for sure.

The barracks door was opened and a group of guards placed loaves of bread and a pitcher of filthy looking water on the stone slab. A brief scuffle broke out around the meagre supply of food, until Merma organized everyone. There was always one of those, Black Tiger thought, as she slipped off to her mattress. The Icewalker/Jackalman woman was gone. She hadn't been able to get up for her rotation, and Black Tiger envied her. For that woman the torment was over. Chedra returned to her bed, and Black Tiger could see that she looked equally exhausted, her back curled as she hungrily devoured her portion.

It did smell good, but the temptation to just let death come was too strong. Black Tiger lay flat on her mattress and tried to will it on. "Come child. You have to eat," Merma said, shaking her. "Remember what I said about hope." She didn't want to, but knew the woman wouldn't leave until she did. Grudgingly, Black Tiger walked over to the table. The water tasted warm, and faintly of urine, and the bread was stale. Still, it tasted better than she expected any such food would. She took her food back to the mattress, under Merma's watchful eye, and ate quietly.

There was little conversation, a few heated words about the guards, but everyone was too tired to do much. That was probably the point. Prisoners who were exhausted were less likely to cause trouble, she thought. Maybe that was what she needed. Cause enough trouble and maybe they would grant her wish. It was something worth thinking about.

* * *

To say that Cameo was less than thrilled to see that Nitro had brought Nuiane with him was an understatement. All they were missing was a representative from the Graviton Moon and all the moons would be involved. Politics were annoying.

He had to admit, though, that he rather enjoyed being on an Icewalker ship again. He had nothing against the Royal ships, but he'd grown up on the Ice Moon, had been a pilot for many years before his sudden promotion. It was these ships where he felt most comfortable, so much so that he was almost tempted to go to the hangar and see the smaller fighter crafts.

They were on the bridge now. A captain's seat, with three officers seated in front of him or her. They could see the Vertis on the view screen, orbiting a small planet with a substantial military installation on the surface. Cameo wondered why the Mutants had set up shop here, and what they needed the Vertis for. A mercenary like Shiner didn't come cheap, or so he'd heard, so it must be something big. "This is Captain Icewin of the Icewalker ship 'Snowblind'. Do you read me, Vertis?"

An image of the notorious mercenary appeared. He stared through his monocle as though they should be paying for the privilege of merely speaking with him. "I read you Snowblind. What is your business?"

"I've brought Queen Luna of the Lunatak empire's representative," Icewin said, gesturing behind him where Cameo and the others stood.

"Which one is it? I don't have time for all these formalities, time is money."

"I am. Cameo of House Mymekon. Perhaps we could meet in person. Luna has agreed to some compensation for your precious time," Cameo said, trying hard not to sound sarcastic. More politics, he thought to himself. But a man like Shiner was motivated by the size of his wallet, and the image certainly seemed to perk up a bit at the mention.

"Very well. I will meet you in the hangar. We can conduct our business when you arrive." The image ended abruptly.

As they walked through the corridors and down the flight of stairs to the Snowblind's hangar, Cameo wondered what they would find out. If Shiner's hands weren't dirty, in this particular matter anyway, then they were paying a small fortune for what amounted to sensor logs and an annoying conversation. And that was assuming that they could rely on his information.

Nitro was obviously thinking along the same lines, trailing after him. "Be nice if someone hadn't lost their telepathy," he said, pointedly glancing at Mystan. Fortunately the Psion wasn't inclined to rise to the bait.

"We might not need it," Cameo replied quickly. "Shiner doesn't know what happened. All he'll see is a Psion and assume we're checking his honesty. Mystan will ensure that Captain Shiner thinks hard about what he tells us."

"True enough. Besides," Mystan said slowly. "I've spent enough time reading people. I should be able to tell when he's lying." They boarded a shuttle and left for the Vertis.

* * *

What was their game, Shiner wondered as the screen turned to black. It was too co-incidental to be running into these people so soon after the business with Drell and his compatriots. They'd been detected by the Vast Belly, as planned, a decoy while the real trouble hit. Captain Shiner had played this game before, he played it at least once a month with the Interplanetary Control Force. He was a mercenary, one of the best, and he got that reputation by learning the rules and never betraying a client.

Flanked by a quartet of guardsmen he formulated a plan. This 'Cameo' didn't look too bright, but there had been one of those blasted Psions in the background. No doubt Cameo wanted a face to face meeting so that the Psion could read his mind. Well, Shiner had learned how to steel his mind, guard his emotions.

And if things turned rough, he had the support of the Mutant outpost below. They were buying some very fine weapons off a third party through him and wouldn't want anything to happen to their cache. In fact, they might even relish the opportunity to try out some of the new weapons from his supplier. It all assumed he was unable to con Cameo.

* * *

"Welcome aboard. I believe you were talking about business?" Captain Shiner asked, gesturing as the trio of Lunataks disembarked. Cameo trusted him even less now that they were face to face. There was just something untrustworthy about the man, even though Lunataks often acted as mercenaries themselves.

"I was. Yesterday a ship of ours was attacked." Cameo watched for reactions, he didn't see anything that might indicate guilt yet. He wasn't very good at this kind of thing. He liked to trust people, think the best of them, in this respect Mystan and Nitro would be much better suited. A mental grudging thanks to Luna was in order. "A number of our people were abducted, and your ship was detected as being in the area shortly before the incident."

"Are you accusing me of kidnapping? I am a mercenary. I don't have to resort to such petty acts." Cameo rolled his eyes. That, at least, he was able to pick out. Blustering usually indicated that he knew something. He didn't think that Shiner was directly responsible, but he certainly was involved somehow. Still, they wouldn't find Psychro or the others through accusations.

"Not at all. We just wanted to see if your scanners picked up anything that ours might have missed," he replied.

This seemed to appease the captain. He smoothed his jacket with one hand and shrugged. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you take a quick look at our logs. We really are in a bit of a hurry, so we'll have to make it quick."

And profitable, Cameo mentally added. At this point they needed the extra information, anything to move the investigation along. There were no ransom notes, nothing of any kind, which created all sorts of unpleasant scenarios for Cameo's mind.

* * *

Mystan stared at the back of Captain Shiner as the latter took them up to the Vertis' bridge. He wasn't used to doing things this way. Mystan was much more accustomed to doing a surface scan of a person's mind. Despite the shred of bravado he'd allowed himself earlier, Nitro was right. A telepath would be very useful, and his observational skill less so. It didn't take a genius to realize that Shiner was up to something, though. He was willing to bet that there would be a problem with the logs, too.

"Here we are," Shiner said, arriving at his station. He began entering commands, calling up the visual record of the passing of the Graviton freighter. Sure enough, by some amazing co-incidence, the camera was pointed away from freighter for most of the passing. It seemed enough to work with, though.

Mystan took a slow walk around the room while Cameo and Shiner negotiated a price for the logs, observing the assorted crew members going about their routines. They were engrossed and barely paid him any attention. He did get a handle on where the camera controls were, watching as a crew member adjusted the view screen. Which meant that this one, or whomever had been at this station, would have had to make sure the cameras weren't pointed in the right direction. "All right, Mystan. We have what we came for," Cameo called out. "Let's not keep the good captain any longer. Time is money."

"Indeed it is. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

* * *

There was activity outside his cell. Psychro looked up to see a Psion/Royal being dragged from one of the other cells and into the mysterious other room by an Icewalker woman. He was struggling against her to little effect. Finally the door slammed shut. Moments later he heard raised voices and a pained cry. Even the guards at the table winced at the noise. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Pray you never find out," one of them called back.

It didn't answer the question. Some kind of torture chamber was the likely explanation, and it made him hate this place that little bit more. He'd recognized the woman. Frostarn of the Whitestar House. The family was well known for their dislike of hybrid Lunataks. Glacin, of the same House, had been his first love. She'd broken his heart badly when she revealed that she'd only dated him to tick off her father, so he turned around and seduced her sister Icilia.

He looked away. Icilia was the one who hurt the most. Glacin's betrayal had been one thing, but when Icilia revealed she was pregnant he'd been filled with mixed emotions. He had been tempted to ask her to bond with him in a public ceremony. But then she'd been found dead, suicide was the official story, but Psychro always figured otherwise. Icilia was too vibrant, and almost seemed excited at the prospect of being a mother. Frostarn was the oldest of the three sisters. There was a brother too, whom Psychro couldn't recall.

It made a weird kind of sense that she would be involved in a group like this, the whole family was, in all likelihood. Such fuss over parentage, it just didn't make sense. Race had never bothered him, his laundry list of failed relationships were a testament to that. He'd dated, and slept with, people from all five moons. He'd been with Lunataks, Mutants, Humans and combinations of the three. There were fine examples of people and poor examples, so he preferred to judge them on how they treated him. If one were to judge the Lunar race based on the likes of Myrik, Drell, and Frostarn then he had no doubt that they would deem the Lunataks to be worthless cowards.

And then there were the others here. Fantasy, Black Tiger, Mind Grind, and all the other prisoners. He felt sorry for them. All of them. It got quiet. Very quiet, the screaming had stopped he realized. Frostarn emerged from the room, licking bloody fingers. She stopped in front of his cell. "I'd heard you were here. It's so nice to see you where you belong. You killed my sister, I hope Crackle lets me kill you. Guards, I'm done with the prisoner. Return him to the barracks." She winked at him and sauntered out of the room, while the guards collected the Psion/Royal. He was unconscious, and bleeding profusely from a chest wound. He would live, even without medical attention, but it wouldn't be a long life. He was tossed haphazardly into his holding cell and the force field re-activated.

Crackle? Frostarn had mentioned the distinctly Graviton name. Was that who owned the warehouse somewhere above them? Was he or she the ring leader of the organization? This was a new piece of information, but he couldn't use it right now.

* * *

Myrik sat in Crackle's office as Frostarn entered. Already present were Drell and Raven. Crackle was, ultimately, in charge but he left the day to day running of things to the other four, preferring to deal with the business side of things on the surface. To the outside world Crackle was nothing more than a small arms supplier who happened to own large tracts of land. No one suspected that beneath the surface lay a covert operation that had been in effect for three years.

No one suspected, either, that the weapons he supplied the informal Graviton government were just a fraction of the weapons he was producing. It was much more profitable to sell weapons on the black market, mostly to the Mutants, but also to anyone willing to buy. It was neat and tidy. Crackle wasn't fond of Luna being on the throne, conversation showed, a stable leadership meant fewer opportunities to sell his weapons locally, and increased the chances of being found out. It was Crackle who was most insistent on finding a way to get at Luna.

"You could have cleaned up first," Crackle snapped at Frostarn. There were flecks of blood visible on her bare arms. Myrik had heard that she enjoyed doing her interrogations in the nude, but that might have been just a rumour and personal fantasy.

"Why bother? I've got another lined up after we're done here. Anyway, he didn't tell me anything new. Babbled on about guard rotations and how he really doesn't know any access codes. He might even be telling the truth," she said, pointedly flicking a dried up spot on to the floor.

"Great. Another dead end. Myrik?"

"I experienced a bit of a setback with Psychro. The rumour mill might not be totally accurate on him. I'm still sure the gentle approach will work," he replied.

"You just don't want to damage his pretty body," Drell snickered, while off to the side Raven spat on the floor. Both men earned scowls from Crackle.

"While it's true he's aesthetically pleasing, I know men like him. I have one more gambit that I think might work. I'll try it tomorrow before the first rotation goes in." Myrik sighed. He was starting to feel pressured for results. He wasn't in it for the results, he was in it for the fun. A look at Frostarn told him that she was of a similar mind set. While she was more inclined to want the Lunar race cleansed, she also took a great deal of satisfaction in the torment of her prisoners.

"And if that doesn't work?" she asked, leaning in. He had once considered the prospects of having a tryst with her, a common opinion of others would make for an fascinating bedfellow, but she was too much against interspecies mating. It was a shame, really.

"If it doesn't work, I'll have to up the ante. I don't want to physically hurt him, but there are plenty of ways to hurt him without actually touching him. I'll get the information we want out of him. Don't worry."

* * *

Nitro settled on to his bed, Nuiane tucked around one arm. He'd looked over the raw data that Cameo had provided, and it certainly sounded likely that whomever was behind the abductions were targeting mixed race children. It raised an interesting question, one brought up by Nuiane after their lovemaking. She had asked what would happen if she got pregnant.

He only had the one half breed, a son he despised named Knave. The boy was an embarrassment, and Nitro had shunted him to the jail to take care of the prisoners. Out of sight, out of mind. He did seem to enjoy abusing prisoners, beating them for small infractions, and forcing confessions out of them, including crimes they weren't currently being tried for. Now the boy was living with the Thundercats, he was their problem, not Nitro's.

But Knave was family still, a fact that nothing could change. Where Knave's mother had been a Cheetah, though, Nuiane was a Darkling. Any child of theirs would be wholly Lunatak, and fit more easily into Icewalker society. Knave's mother had taught him to be more careful with his sex, but there was no guarantee that his beautiful Nuiane wouldn't someday likewise produce a child. He wondered if that was something she wanted, or whether she was just voicing a fear. These people were the types who probably would abduct a baby.

Squeezing her shoulder gently he considered who these people could be. Psions were the most likely. Whatever was happening was being done by cowards, and any Icewalker knew that the Psions were the most cowardly of all the Moons of Plundarr. There was at least one Darkling involved, possibly more. Certainly, there couldn't be any Icewalkers. An Icewalker met their enemy face to face, they fought with honour and dignity. They could cheat when they had to, or use deception against a more powerful foe, but there was still that honour involved. There was nothing more he could do right now, so he shrugged it off and would worry about it in the morning.

* * *

For Cameo, sleep came less easily. His night was plagued with nightmares, visions of Psikaris and his twin children being taken by shadowy monsters, while he was helpless to save them. He almost called Psikaris, back on the Royal Moon, just to make sure that she was okay. She was. She had to be. Someone from the moon would have contacted him by now if she wasn't. He just had to have faith.

* * *

Mind Grind whimpered in his sleep, likewise tormented by nightmares. The only difference for him was that if he opened his eyes the nightmare was still there. His leg throbbed from Frostarn's ministrations, his back and arms ached from the labour, and head still hurt from where Myrik had smashed it against the table. It wasn't pleasant at all, and made sleep next to impossible. The only thing saving him was his sheer exhaustion. Sleep wouldn't last long, as they would start working again in the morning.

* * *

Far away, though in the same compound, Fantasy lay curled on the floor. Myrik had been in a foul mood when he came in, and been even angrier when he'd seen the mess that Psychro had made. A helpless Psion/Icewalker male had been dragged in and made to clean it up, a spiteful thing no doubt since he obviously didn't want to hurt Psychro yet. The poor man was terrified, and offered little resistence when Myrik dragged him to the bed and had his way with him.

She felt sorry for the man. He was a prisoner, just like she was, but he was also being punished for something someone else had done. Psychro seemed decent, he'd shown her some tricks in bed that she hadn't been aware of, which spoke to a less than innocent past, and seemed genuine in his determination to free her. Of course, all the pity in the world wouldn't completely blot out her relief that Myrik hadn't turned his attentions on her. She hated Myrik with a passion, she was used to being pampered by men, not beaten. For now she would bide her time and hope that Psychro was successful.

* * *

"On your feet, ladies," one of the gold suited guards shouted. Black Tiger groaned inwardly. It couldn't possibly be morning yet, could it? She hadn't really slept for very long, had had a miserable night tossing and turning. The room was too bright, relative to what she was used to sleeping in, and the mattress stank heavily. How many people had died on it? She pushed the thought aside and stood at the foot of her 'bed.' The leader of the guards paced the length of the room, making sure that everyone was up while his flunkies stood near the two sets of doors.

Black Tiger, while working, had calculated the amount of time a rebellion would last. She estimated that it would take the guards a minute at most to quell it and kill everyone, and that was being generous. "We have a special treat for you, ladies. Before we serve you breakfast, Myrik has a special mission for some of you. Listen close and do as he says," the leader said, finishing his walk.

As he stepped aside there was a spattering of hushed conversation. She hadn't been talking about him, but Black Tiger remembered Merma's words about not being noticed. Around Myrik she had that icky feeling. He was not a man she wanted to spend any time with, would much rather be in the mines than deal with.

The door swung open and Myrik grandly swept in. "Ladies. I have good news for you. Some of you are about to be cleaned up, fed, and given a chance to avoid working in the mines for a very long time. Does that sound appealing to you?" He strode around as though he owned the place, and as far as Black Tiger knew, he did.

A number of women immediately raised their hands, while others shrank back. Some of these women knew all about 'special missions,' Black Tiger suspected. Her first hunch was probably correct, she wanted nothing to do with it. Myrik started at one end of the room. While the volunteers tried to make themselves more presentable he didn't seem to care one way or another whether the women he tapped volunteered or not.

He walked further down the room. Merma was picked, she noticed, much to the former's dismay. Myrik took great delight in pausing before the women, teasing their selection, watching their reactions. She didn't know what his criteria were, so she didn't bother doing anything as he got closer. He stopped directly in front of her, five women having been chosen thus far, and stared at her for a long time. His eyes took a leisurely stroll, admiring her breasts for longer than she felt comfortable. A shudder ran up her spine as he gently brushed her hair back and leaned in close. "Not yet, my sweet. I have special plans for you."

Myrik took a step back, pleased to see her unsettled. She sank down on the mattress, but he didn't comment. Instead he moved along down the line, picking Chedra as his last pick. The six women, almost an even mix of the willing and unwilling, were led from the room while his guards brought in breakfast. This was a chaotic mess, without Merma to mediate, so Black Tiger forced her way to the table. Merma would chastise her greatly if she didn't take anything for herself. The first rotation would be called soon, so she had time to rest some more and think about what was to come.

* * *

"So, where do we stand then?" Cameo asked. He sat at a table with Mystan, Nitro and Nuiane. They had, in front of them, hard copies of all the raw data they had. It all connected somehow, and he hoped it would point somewhere.

"I've been reading all this. I'm inclined to agree with your original assessment; half-breeds, sorry, hybrids are being targeted here," Mystan said. "Assuming that not all missing hybrids are involved in this affair, and that there are people missing that we don't know about, we're still dealing with large number. Which means whoever is behind this has to either have a large number themselves, or are killing their victims very quickly."

They weren't words Cameo wanted to hear. The possibility that Psychro was already dead, wasn't a prospect he wanted to consider at this juncture. Truth be told, he hoped all of them were still alive. He didn't want to deal with any family and explain that a loved one was gone, let alone break the bad news to Psikaris. "Is there a pattern?" he finally said, hoping to get his mind off that path.

"Certainly nothing I can see. People are being taken from all the moons, all sections of the moons, though concentrated around the bigger cities. But then, most of the population, hybrid or otherwise, live in the bigger cities."

"Hence why they are bigger cities," Nitro said.

Nuiane chuckled at the barb, but Cameo wasn't thrilled to hear it. "What about you, then? Can you enlighten us?"

"While Mystan is right, in that the abductions are happening everywhere, I see that a good third are happening on the Royal Moon, with the Graviton next, Psion, Darkling, and Ice. Given that my moon has a greater number of hybrid Lunataks, this is interesting to me." If Nitro was offended he didn't let it show.

"So do we assume their base of operations is on the Royal Moon? Is this one organization with five chapters?" Cameo sighed. He wished he'd looked into some of the disruptions sooner, or that someone had. Missing persons just weren't that glamourous a crime. His communicator chirped and a message appeared on the screen. "Aw crap. We've had another one."

* * *

They were on the Ice Moon, in one of the many arenas. An older gentleman, clearly a seasoned fighter, gestured behind him to the locker room. "I was in the second fight. I'd just beaten Cairus and we'd gone to the showers. I got out of the showers first and got changed. I noticed that he was taking a long time, so I went back in to see if he was okay. These young kids, sometimes they've got an internal injury and are ashamed to admit it. You know how it is, Nitro," the man said. Nitro nodded. The younger ones always thought themselves invincible and didn't report injuries to the doctors. Pride was one thing, foolishness another. "Anyway, I got there and he's gone. I can't fathom how it happened, neither. There's only one door to the shower."

Nitro could think of possibilities, but all of them were slim. Nuiane, who had stayed back on the ship with Mystan, could have done it for example. Most Darklings were able to control and manipulate the dark, but Nuiane could use shadows to travel through cracks in the wall. It made her an excellent spy. If she were so inclined she might have been able to travel through the darkness of the drains and abducted someone. Mutant teleporters, while not currently in vogue these days, were another possibility. There was also the chance that this gentleman was lying.

Cairus wasn't a greater fighter, but he was improving. There were many who claimed that his Darkling blood should disqualify him from tournaments, not the first time such a statement had been made. "And you're sure you didn't hear anything else?" Cameo asked, leading the way into the locker room itself.

It was like any other locker room Nitro had been in. A few benches, a shower, a bathroom. Nothing fancy. Men and women trained together, but there was a separate changing area if one felt modest. Nitro inspected the shower too, nothing obvious. No signs of blood or violence. Whatever had happened had been quick. Any noise would have been muffled by the showers too, come to think of it. "Absolutely. Even left the shower running. Shame about the kid."

"It is. We'll do our best to find him."

* * *

"How strange that such a thing occurred on the Ice Moon," Mystan remarked. He'd been going over the flight logs from the space port. There had been two ships that might have used a transporter if they had one. But even owning a transporter wouldn't prove anything, they weren't illegal.

"We don't have time for this. Another one disappears without a trace, and I don't feel like we're getting any closer," Cameo sighed. "We'll contact those two ships. There's not enough evidence to search them, but right now it's our best lead."

* * *

The shower, Merma grudgingly admitted, felt nice against her skin. Under the close supervision of the guards she scrubbed away at the dirt and grime that was caked in. Skin that hadn't seen the light of day was blue once more. Natural light would be nice, she mused, but suspected that wasn't going to be offered. She didn't know what was about to happen.

Myrik enjoyed taking prisoners of both genders into his room on occasion, and when they came back, or so she heard, they refused to talk about what happened. Never before, though, had he taken more than one. The six women talked amongst themselves, trying to sort it all out. The guards didn't seem to care. Someone, bless them, had arranged for only female guards to be present at this point. Every part of this was uncomfortable, but being ogled by a group of men would have added to the stress.

They all agreed on one thing, as the shampoo ran through her hair, there was going to be sex involved. Probably not Myrik, but one of the other higher ranked men. Why else would they choose six women. The next question was what they were supposed to wear. Their clothes were just as filthy as they had been, and no one seemed about to touch them. Were they supposed to wear dirty clothes on their clean bodies? Were clothes being brought to them?

"That's enough shower time. Food's here. Enjoy it while you can," one of the guards said, as indeed, trays of delicious food were brought in. It had been so long since any of them had eaten anything resembling 'real food' so they greedily ate all they could. Meat, cheese, pastries and all kinds of delicacies disappeared down her throat. Goods from the Graviton Moon, largely, though there was a Darkling custard.

Merma avoided the meat, she'd heard rumours about just what was done with the corpses, but everything else was fair game. The special mission, whatever it was, would come once all the food was gone. She realized it very suddenly and slowed her progress. The longer it took to eat, the later the mission would be. Sadly, she was the only one thinking along these lines. As the last dollop of custard vanished, the trays were taken away and they were sent to wash their hands and faces of any sloppy eating.

And then they were taken out of the showers and into a small meeting room. Merma's face flushed, walking through the corridors in the nude, even passing by other prisoners being brought in and their guards. She saw Drell, the scum who had tricked her into sharing the cab, and he ignored her venomous stare. Myrik waited in this room for them.

"Welcome ladies. May I say it is a treat to see you all looking so well. We are about to be joined by a very special guest, one who needs encouragement seeing the light. You are to be sweet and charming to him. You will do as I say without complaint, or else there will be consequences." He walked as he spoke, as though he were a military commander addressing his troops. "You may only speak if he asks you a question, and I would like to remind you that I will be present at all times."

She looked nervously at her companions. Myrik was suggesting what she thought he was suggesting. They were to help seduce and corrupt someone to their side. It was tempting to try and help him, but she knew too well of Myrik's punishments. She could only hope that this man had a brain in his head and thought with it rather than his crotch.

"Now, here's exactly what we're going to do."

* * *

They were like children, Cameo grumbled quietly to himself. Mystan and Nitro were happily sniping at eachother instead of focussing on the task at hand. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. They both were putting in effort, but the bulk of it seemed to happen when the other wasn't around. It was strange, he already had an inkling of the motives behind their assistance, Mystan's reputation and Nitro's honour, but neither seemed to work well around the other. Was this what he was going to have to look forward to when his own children were born?

Cameo stood on the bridge of Nitro's ship, watching the stars as they raced to meet one of the two vessels. Mystan had left some time ago in a smaller craft to speak with the other, claiming something about a Psion ship being more likely to talk to him than to Nitro. The one that they were going to see was a Darkling ship. By the same logic, he supposed, he should have Nuiane do the talking. It wouldn't surprise him to hear Nitro suggest it.

"Rendezvous in an hour sir," the helmsman said. The captain nodded an affirmative. An hour then. An hour wasted travelling when the threat was out there somewhere. Deciding not to waste anymore time he went to fetch Nitro.

* * *

They weren't going to like it, Nuiane was sure of that. The Darklings hadn't changed in the four years since she'd last lived on their moon, and they were a secretive bunch. Accusing them of kidnapping was risky business, especially coming from an Icewalker. Not so long ago the Icewalkers and Darklings had been at war. One of Nitro's sons, Davyn, had tainted the water supply on the Dark Moon, many had succumbed to disease and died. Davyn had been caught and burned at the stake on national television as a warning to their enemies. Nitro had refused to see her that night, fearing that he would not be a gentle lover. She appreciated that, and gave him his space. He'd come back, as she knew he would.

Now she followed him, and Cameo, to the captain's quarters where the communication would take place. There was no need to let any of the crew know the details yet. Cameo, she could tell, was less than thrilled that she was coming along, he didn't say as much but she felt it. That was his problem. Nitro was the one in charge, as far as she saw it, and she would respect his desires. Besides, Cameo was probably just uptight because his bond mate looked nothing like her. Or he was scared for her safety. Psikaris was a hybrid as well, she as well as Cameo would be targets for this group, whoever they were.

Hmm... That was more likely, wasn't it. Cameo was doubtless feeling fear over his loved ones, an admirable trait. Nitro cared about his family too, except for the proverbial black sheep. She met Knave on a number of occasions, had been made to bed him once too. If ever the word 'savage' applied to someone, it was him. He'd been a brutal lover, aroused by the sight and smell of blood. She didn't think he'd scratched her on purpose, but she did wonder. Perhaps they could ship Knave off to whomever was responsible.

They opened the door and stepped in. The Darkling captain was waiting already on the viewer, looking rather impatient. "Hello," Cameo said, hastily taking the seat. Nitro and Nuiane took up positions on either side of him. "I am Cameo of House..."

"I know who you are. I keep up with the news," the captain said. She could sense his annoyance even from here. This was one who had doubtless been in the thick of the war, he hated Icewalkers, and Nitro especially.

"Right. Your ship was detected in the vicinity of the Ice Moon around the time that an abduction occurred. I'm sure you had nothing to do with it, but I have to ask whether there is a transporter of any kind on your ship that someone might have used."

The Darkling's temper flared. "You think I... You, woman, do you agree with Cameo?"

Nuiane was caught off-guard by the question. Apologetically, she took the seat from Cameo and stared at the monitor. "I don't know what's happening, truthfully. A lot of people are disappearing, and a popular theory is a transporter was used. We're questioning another ship that was nearby. A Psion one, if that helps." That wasn't as big a deal. The Psions and Darklings were on relatively good terms. Both moons had been opposed to the Icewalkers, and formed an alliance. And then she saw it. A gesture so subtle that neither Cameo nor Nitro likely caught it. The Darkling captain's anger was being cooled by lust. His eyes had flitted momentarily to her ample chest. "May I speak with him alone?" she asked Cameo.

The Icewalker hybrid threw his arms up and left, Nitro following suit, though without the melodrama. "You have a transporter, don't you," she said bluntly, fingers playing with the zipper at her neck. She hated this game, it was so predictable. She'd give him a cheap thrill, and he'd give her the information she wanted. They both knew how it would end.

"We do." The zipper slid a few teeth. "It's in bad need of repair, hasn't worked properly in a few days. Our technician needs a spare part, which is why we're headed to Plundarr." A few more teeth and more skin was exposed. "I can let you come investigate it yourself, if you want. Maybe over dinner?"

She hesitated. That wasn't in the script, and Nitro definitely wouldn't approve. She knew that he was territorial in many ways, especially since Nuiane knew that it wasn't just 'dinner' that the captain was after. But getting a chance to look at that transporter was important. If they could verify somehow that the machine was broken, they could definitively rule out this ship's involvement. A memory surfaced, the last time she had displeased Nitro. He'd threatened to have her killed and eaten, and when she proved contrite enough he'd reduced the sentence to spending the night with Knave. She couldn't chance it, he might not be so lenient next time. The zipper went back up. "That might not be a good idea, unless you're inviting Cameo and Nitro too."

The mood on the other end of the receiver darkened. "So you prefer the company of Icewalkers, then, disgusting. If your precious masters want to inspect our transporter they can. I don't care, they'll probably run crying to the crown if I refuse." The communication ended abruptly, so Nuiane went to report what had happened to the others.

* * *

Where Cameo was discovering the accuracy of the captain's statement, that indeed the transporter seemed to have ceased working long ago, Mystan had found interesting news. As the small ship departed the Psion ship he considered the information. The Psion ship was en route to the Psion Moon to report unauthorized activity on their transporters and the theft of one of their shuttles shortly thereafter. They pursued the ship into the asteroid belt, but had been unable to follow the sleeker craft and lost it amid the rocks. It was curious how that asteroid field would crop up again. It made him wonder about the co-incidence of that.

Now they had two names. Mystan stared at the dossiers in front of him. Neither one matched the gentleman in his vision, and neither seemed to jump out at him as being a troublemaker. The worst that could be said, in fact, was that one had been caught spraying graffiti a few years back.

The graffiti. That was something that bore looking into. They didn't know how long this group had been around. Perhaps that had been at the beginning? Calmly he contacted Cameo.

* * *

Myrik was being coy about waited for him, as he led Psychro from his cell into an office. The door opened and he saw nothing but opulence, with more tantalizing treats hiding behind curtains. A table was covered in rich and succulent foods, gold and jewels decorated the table. "This is a glimpse of what can be yours, Psychro. Look at it all. Things to tempt the senses. Imagine any dish your mind can conjure, presented on a platter of gold and presented with the finest silk napkins. Only the best for you." And it was tempting. Psychro had barely had a chance to eat anything of late, a thin soup had been shoved into the cell at one point, while one of the guards nicked the piece of bread that had supposed to go to him.

"If food for the stomach isn't enough, what about food for the soul? The latest in technology, videos of your favourite movies all available at the snap of a finger." He pulled aside a curtain and revealed a state of the art computer system waiting. "And of course, something that is neither for the stomach, nor the soul."

He yanked back the next curtain and six naked women in various poses stood or lay around a large bed with what appeared to be satin sheets. He gawked, he couldn't help it. There, kneeling at the foot of the bed, was the one he'd been captured with. Chedra, if he remembered correctly. It was sad. Though they were certainly beautiful, many of them had that same expression he'd seen on Fantasy, a look of desperation and hatred aimed at Myrik. "You know that you want to," the Psion coaxed. "You've never had so many women at once, have you. It's a delightful experience."

"You're insane," Psychro snapped, striking Myrik as hard as he could. He'd learned his lesson from their previous encounter. He needed to work fast before Myrik could get a telepathic hold. And not just for his own sake, for the sake of the women too. He grabbed the Psion and hurled him through the table of food, sending goodies scattering in every direction. Psychro jumped him and struck again, hitting Myrik hard in the side of the head, but that was it. His body refused to co-operate very suddenly.

"And you're a fool," Myrik said, reasserting his control. "You see? None of them tried to help you. They know better. And now they are going to hate you. Because of you, each one of them will be punished. I promised them a chance for a better life, just as you did, a chance to live away from slavery, away from harm. I might even have let them go. But you ruined it for them. Some day you will be so compliant. But for now you will watch, and know that you brought this on them."

Psychro's head turned of its own volition and he saw that none of the women had moved. None had gotten up to help in the fight. The only explanation was they knew the outcome. Myrik had the advantage here. He gestured to a Human/Icewalker. "You. There seems to be cake on my face. Lick it off," Myrik said. Psychro could tell that he was using his telepathy to enhance obedience. He was helpless to do anything but watch as the woman, staring at Psychro with a mixture of relief and anger, did as he commanded.

Myrik pointed at Chedra, "You. I have decided that I cannot harm Psychro physically. Not yet anyway. You will take his beating." Chedra stood, the bruising on her knees still visible as her body trembled. She couldn't fight the mental command and walked up to Myrik. "Your last chance, Psychro, before her blood is one your hands."

The torment continued on for a good hour. Each woman humiliated in any fashion that Myrik could imagine. A Darkling/Psion woman performed oral sex on Myrik while another carved Psychro's name on her belly with a knife. Finally the macabre performance ended, and the women left one by one, leaving the two men alone. "Every one of those torments could be yours, Psychro. Every one of them. I tried doing things the nice way, but you resisted. You attacked me verbally and physically. I don't think you appreciate yet who you're dealing with. All you have to do is give us Cameo. That's all. Betray your brother-in-law." Unable to do anything, Psychro stared mutely. He had taken notes of every single torment he'd inflicted, and planned to repay each one. "Still no. Very well. I had hoped that I wouldn't have to make this personal, but I see I have no other choice. I will make you regret your decision. Farewell, Psychro, and remember, you could have prevented all this."


	3. Chapter 3

Purification by Jonathan Prideaux  
Chapter 3

"Another beer!" she shouted over the din of the crowd. The bar was jumping, as it often was. There was nothing like a bar to entertain the average Graviton and, even though she wasn't fully Graviton, she had to agree that the ambiance wasn't bad. This one was one of her favourite haunts. After a hard day's work at the prison, which currently had three criminals in it, she liked to come here and kick off her boots.

A mug of beer appeared at her elbow, and a handsome Graviton took a leisurely look up and down at her. Free beer for a cheap thrill? It seemed like a fair enough deal, provided he wasn't too awful a conversationalist. She wasn't really looking for a date at present, but what the heck, a good Graviton never turned down free booze. She thanked him warmly and took a long swig.

He was friendly enough. He kept the conversation to safe topics, probably just wanting a one-night stand. The beer was strong and her vision was starting to blur. That made sense, she'd had quite a few beers before he showed up, and her tolerance wasn't as high as that of her mother. He even offered to give her a lift home when she realized there was no way in hell she'd be able to drive herself. As he helped her into the passenger seat her head began swimming even more. The stranger began to laugh and picked up a radio. "I've got her," he said. She blacked out.

* * *

Cameo mulled over Mystan's report. They had two names, but nothing concrete. A bulletin put out across the moons might flag them, especially if they didn't realize they'd been found out. It was just the kind of sloppiness that he had been hoping for. It sounded too easy, but maybe he was trying to see layers where there weren't any.

Currently he, along with Nitro and Nuiane were headed for the Royal Moon. While the Icewalkers had been generous enough to ferry them around in their ship, it did have other business it needed to tend to. They would take a rest and continue the investigation from there. Cameo had a private shuttle if he needed it, so transportation wasn't a serious issue. Still, Luna would need a report eventually, and hearing that he spent half his time travelling wouldn't make her happy.

Besides, it would be nice to be around Psikaris, someone who could be reasonable. Nitro had been more than happy to hear that a pair of Psions were involved, as though that confirmed what he thought of the race. It probably also gave him a point over Mystan. Another two hours and he would be home. Happier thoughts.

* * *

For his part, Psychro had never felt such anger before. Knowing that Myrik abused and assaulted Fantasy had been bad enough on its own, that plus the threats and innuendos, but to see such acts taking place in front of him was appalling. And for what? To try and get Psychro to give up information that he could just as easily pull directly from his head? It was a bloody power trip, that's what it was. Myrik took great pleasure in breaking people. The worst of it was that he knew some of those women would blame him for their plight instead of directing their energy at the real culprit.

It was tempting, truth be told, to give in. There were many who would claim that Psychro had no redeeming qualities, but that wasn't true. He didn't like seeing others hurt unless they deserved it. In a simple 'me versus you' situation, his self-preservation would kick in, but he still didn't like making that kind of choice. The only exception to the rule was his sister. Poor Psikaris, wherever she was.

" I had hoped that I wouldn't have to make this personal..." Myrik had said. Was he going after Psikaris? The thought was horrifying. An unwanted image appeared of Psikaris, degrading herself like the others had, appeared. He wouldn't dare. Nothing on any moon would stop Psychro from protecting his sister, which meant he had work to do. He settled on the floor beside the door, taking a close look at the guards. None of them were paying attention, one was even asleep. Good. He took off his steel toed boots and quietly began chipping away at the rock on the opposite side of the force field generator.

* * *

Black Tiger stared as the door to the barracks opened and the collection of women walked in. They looked angry and confused. There was hurt on those faces, meaning their special mission hadn't been quite so special. Chedra was the scariest to see, her face an expressionless mask. Her body was covered in bruises, and it looked like her nose had been broken. She winced as she sat down on her mattress, but then the self-imposed mask returned. Merma seemed rattled, but went one by one to the others, inspecting their wounds.

"What happened? What was the mission?" Another asked.

"It was horrible," a Darkling/Psion replied. "He treated us nicely and then abused us. That bastard."

"It's all that guy's fault. He had the chance to save us and he didn't, ungrateful wretch. I hope Myrik does to him what he did to me," a Royal/Graviton snarled.

"Psychro," the words were soft. Barely audible over the commotion. "Myrik had me carve the name in my stomach so we never forget who did this." An Icewalker/Lion raised her tattered and blood soaked shirt to reveal the name. It was a shallow wound, but the name was clear.

Psychro? He was still alive then, and Myrik wanted something out of him. It made sense, if what she knew of his reputation was accurate. He loved his women, had slept with some two hundred of them. But he'd turned it down? Whatever Myrik wanted must be terrible if he wouldn't give it up. What could it be?

"Idiots." Black Tiger had never heard a voice with so much bitterness in it. Everyone turned to listen to Merma. "You think it matters? Myrik wasn't going to let any of us go free. What he did was stall our deaths. Even if Psychro had given in, once Myrik was done with the information he'd be in the mines too. You all know it too, Psychro probably knew it. At least he got a couple of good shots in. And I'm willing to bet he'll suffer more for what he did than what happened to us. I'm not saying I enjoyed it, I'd love to cut out Myrik's heart and eat it, truth be told, but I know who the enemy is, and we saw what he's capable of."

A glimmer of life appeared in Chedra's eye. Black Tiger suspected that the woman agreed with the sentiment. If only they had their powers, they might be able to hold their own against these guards and effect an escape.

"You think that's all I'm capable of? You don't know anything." None of them were aware of Myrik's re-entry, and they wondered how long he had been there. Long enough, she was willing to wager. Not long enough, her mind told her. She remembered how he'd looked at her earlier and had a sneaky feeling that she would wish she could disappear.

Merma screamed suddenly. "No! I didn't mean it. I tried my best, I couldn't save you. I'm sorry! Keep away from me. No, please don't. Stop!" she swung wildly, flailing at imaginary foes.

"You see? Your torments are limited only by my imagination. A doctor meeting the ghosts of all the patients who have died on her operating table. Delicious, isn't it?" Myrik watched, effortlessly implanting the thoughts in Merma's head. He let the illusion drop just as suddenly, and the Icewalker/Human slunk to her mattress to soothe her mind.

He gestured and a pair of guards followed him down the aisle. Black Tiger's heart began pounding, he was heading in her direction, looking for her, no doubt. There was just something about the way he walked that suggested it. She whimpered and found that she was trembling as the fear mounted.

"Ah. There you are. Bring her." Myrik pointed squarely at her and the two guards advanced.

"No!" Chedra pounced, sharp claws raking the face of one guard, a thick Icewalker, and shoving past a Royal. Then a strange thing happened, to Black Tiger's surprise. Myrik gestured at Chedra and found that she was able to resist for a few seconds. Those few seconds bought her time to close the gap. Chedra's claws sank into the tender flesh of his chest, right over where his heart would be.

Spurred on, other women stood and began running. Fists began flying, each getting in the other's way, but enough blows were raining down to make it impossible for Myrik to concentrate on anyone in particular. Even the two guards were pulled into the fracas, finding themselves at the mercy of the prisoners.

The rebellion was over quick. Predictably, Black Tiger added to herself. A feeling of incredible weight filled the room, trapping everyone where they were. On the floor, having been jostled in her attempt to join in, Black Tiger watched as a muscular Graviton patted his gravity carbine. "I thought I heard a commotion in here." Another guard, this one also a Graviton, walked around with a stun pistol and proceeded to stun all the prisoners so that they could uncover Myrik and the other two jailers.

"Bring that one too," Myrik said, pointing at Black Tiger.

* * *

"You should probably see a doctor," Crackle said. Myrik didn't want to hear it. He'd gotten sloppy with those prisoners. They had embarrassed, and nearly killed him. They probably would have with all that he'd done to them. He cursed himself for his stupidity, even as he wiped the blood from his face with his hands. "I don't need you dying here."

"I'm fine." A hospital would ask too many questions. They might even get the authorities involved, and he didn't need that. Crackle might be right though. Besides, Psychro might get the wrong idea, he might have his hope built up. Or maybe it would work for him. That was a distinct possibility, let Psychro think that Myrik was just angry enough to kill the girl. He didn't even know exactly what he planned on doing to her. She was just a pawn, someone that Psychro knew well, someone who might get him to break.

The girl. Black Tiger, the profile said. She was walking, rather than being dragged, between the two fresh guards he had collected. The fear was palpable off her. Tears streaked her face, and under other circumstances he might have delighted in them. "I'll take her from here," he told them. "Go back and fetch three prisoners who have worked in the hospital, I'm pretty sure we still have three. They can tend my injuries. This one can help me change. Once that's done, we'll visit Psychro."

As soon as the guards turned to go, Black Tiger made to run. Capturing her mind was ridiculously easy and she stopped. "Are you sure you can trust them?" Crackle asked. Finding a hint of his swagger, Myrik smirked at the Graviton.

* * *

Fantasy was startled to see Myrik looking in such a state. For once, the blood appeared to be mostly his own. He was in a foul mood too, which didn't bode well for whomever had inflicted the injuries. Was it the Darkling/Tiger girl? She didn't look capable of doing any of that, given how badly she was swaying on her feet. Fortunately, Myrik seemed to have little interest in Fantasy at the moment, and was focussed on the other. The girl hesitantly helped him out of his clothes, exposing his naked body to her. Fantasy saw the gasp, probably the first naked man she'd ever seen.

A moment later a woman and two men entered. The Darkling/Tiger was sent over to sit beside Fantasy while Myrik effortlessly took control of the minds of the three. Fantasy pulled her close and held her trembling body. "Why are they helping him?" the girl whispered.

She'd seen this trick before. Myrik was too damned powerful. Why did power have to corrupt so badly? "My guess is, they don't know they are. He's suppressed recent memories to before they were brought here. To them, they're doing a house call or something." She yearned to learn all she could about what had happened from the girl, but couldn't find the words. She was obviously traumatized and talking about it wouldn't help. Was this all from Psychro? That was possible. He had a strong will. Maybe not. The puncture wound on Myrik's chest looked too small for his hands.

Speaking of hands, she looked down at the girl's. Not only were they trembling, but a cut on the palm had re-opened. Myrik would be upset if there was blood on his carpet, and he was bleeding enough for that to begin with. Carefully dipping a piece of her robe in her offensive water dish, Fantasy dabbed at the wound. At least it would distract both from what was happening.

* * *

Cameo touched Psikaris' belly. It comforted him to know that somewhere in there were a pair of children forming. His children. He wanted a better life for them. Moons that didn't care about race, gender, or creed. Which made the case that much more important to crack. He had reported to Luna already, and she was less than thrilled. She had expressed disgust both that this was going on under her nose, and that it was taking so long to get results. News from Third Earth was bothering her too. The Thundercats, now allies, were clamouring for the release of their kinsmen. How, she'd asked aloud, was she supposed to tell them there wasn't a chance of that happening without causing an 'incident'?

At least they now had something. Mystan assured him that local authorities would investigate the homes of the two miscreants, and forward anything of interest. In the meantime they would go over any information that the computers could pull on them. Transmission records, known family, and the like. It mightn't hurt, he thought, to send an extra ship into the asteroid field to see if they could find anything.

He felt hands running through his hair and saw Psikaris trying to smile comfortingly at him. She was just as, if not more so, worried. Between pregnancy and stress over her brother she wasn't doing well. He'd even seen the latest issue of 'The New Mechanical Institute' unopened on the coffee table. Cameo was trying so hard not to burden her with this, but also trying to reassure her that there was progress. "He'll be fine. Come on, you need your rest," he said, pulling her to her feet.

"I know. You'll find him," she said. He hoped she was right, and more that they found him in time.

* * *

Elsewhere, his shuttle dropping him off on the Royal Moon, Mystan found his thoughts revolving around how deep the Psions seemed to be involved in the mess. Of four known suspects, three were from his own moon. The High Priests ran the moon though, very little happened, legal or otherwise, without them knowing. So how was this happening then? Neither of the names they had were particularly noteworthy individuals. A toy shop owner and a low level security officer who had invited his friend aboard his ship.

Obviously not very bright either, he thought. A transporter might glitch, but there was no way that a shuttle would take off on its own. Surely, by now, they must know that they had been found out, if only for the theft. He certainly hoped that whoever was in charge of the kidnaps didn't know. Whomever it was, they wanted them kept in the dark for as long as possible. They might up their time table, or slither back even further. It was just aggravating to not know, and his brief communique with the temple had shown that the feeling was mutual. They were working on sweeping the moon with their telepathy for any signs of the missing persons, but the chances were slim.

Mystan arrived at a local temple for Cyris and found sanctuary for the night. He would find Nitro and Cameo in the morning.

* * *

It was slow progress. Psychro estimated he'd been at it for almost three hours now. Chipping at the rock face with the steel of his boot without being noticed was a trick and a half. One of the guards had, eventually, deigned to walk by. Wisely, perhaps, Psychro had taken off both boots. He figured that even the densest Lunatak might question why someone was sitting, wearing just one boot.

The door opened and his anger rose again. Myrik. He looked like hell, bruises, small cuts, and Psychro was certain they couldn't have all been from him. What else had happened in his absence? Maybe the prisoners had done it, or maybe that Crackle person he seemed to report to. He wanted to know more, but mostly he wanted to add to Myrik's misery.

Further thought was banished when he saw Black Tiger following behind Myrik. The Psion grabbed her by the arm and pushed her in front of Psychro's cell. "I'm not having a very good day, Psychro. Between your actions and a small incident in the barracks, I'm not feeling very generous. So here's your one chance to save Black Tiger from a life of unpleasantness. Tell me the access codes or I hand her over to these fine gentlemen. She's a virgin, you know."

Black Tiger's face paled, and he saw her furtively look over to the six men at the table. To his immense relief, only one of them looked particularly thrilled with the prospect. Psychro suspected that they would obey, though. He'd seen the effect that Myrik had on people as it was. "Leave her out of this."

"And why would I do that? Were you hoping to have her yourself? I think you were. She is very pretty. So sweet and innocent, so young. You want to prove you're still the man you think you are."

"Take me instead." The words popped out so suddenly that Psychro was surprised at them. It was something Myrik wanted and it might spare Black Tiger. It was rational and logical.

Myrik hesitated himself. Psychro could see the gears turning. "Maybe another time, though I'm happy to hear you say that. Someday I plan of teaching you the side of pleasure you've neglected. But for now, let's come back to the original question. Which is it going to be? The man you dislike, or the innocent child?"

He looked away. No man should have to make this kind of decision, he thought. How could anyone expect him to make that kind of decision? Cameo versus Black Tiger. While he didn't like Cameo, betraying Cameo was akin to betraying Psikaris, and he would never do that. "Psychro. Please, just tell him."

"He's not going to do it, you know" Myrik whispered in her ear. "Those men are going to violate you in ways you never knew existed. And Psychro is going to hear it all. He could save you, but he won't. He doesn't care about you, he's a heartless monster like me."

Psychro lunged at the force field, bouncing off and landing on his back. "When I get out of here I swear I'm going to kill you slowly."

"Undress for the nice men, Black Tiger. It'll be easier on you than letting them do it," Myrik continued, ignoring the outburst. Psychro stared, pounding his fists off the field, dimly aware that Black Tiger was doing as she was told. She was terrified, and he didn't blame her. There was still time to save her, he knew it. Silently he prayed to all the gods that she would be saved.

Myrik's radio chirped and he stepped back to listen to it. "Sorry, gentlemen. There's been a change of plans. This bait doesn't seem to have worked, but something better has come along. Our newest guest will be here soon enough. You may go, Black Tiger."

The gods had a wicked sense of humour, Psychro thought. They'd spared one, but provided another. New bait, a woman that Myrik thought would work better. He swallowed hard, hoping beyond hopes that it wasn't Psikaris.

* * *

In his sleep he saw them. A Psion and a Darkling hunting his son. Nitro watched Knave and his daughter sat contentedly outside Cat's Lair, unaware that they were being stalked. The mysterious Lunataks he had seen in Sirilus' last moments moved quickly. The Psion raised a hand and the earth itself rose up around father and daughter, swallowing them up and taking them beneath the surface. The Darkling turned towards Nitro, mouth wide open and teeth glistening. A mocking laughter escaped those lips. "What will you do?" the Psion asked. "When we come for him."

Nitro's eyes opened, startling Nuiane who had been sleeping with her back to him. He waved her back to sleep and stood up. What would he do? He was already trying hard, for the sake of the empire, but would he find the same rage that Cameo felt if his son were taken prisoner? There were many times Nitro had considered killing the boy, but he proved himself just barely useful enough, and there was family honour. And now he had a daughter of his own. A godling child, they said. Though her mother was Psion, she bore little resemblance to her, and she had none of her father's Cheetah markings. She was, in effect, almost completely Icewalker. Would these scoundrels take her too?

He stared at the clock. He'd had a good five hours, and he was rattled. He needed to get back to work. He activated his computer and began searching through Icewalker records for the kind of graffiti their suspect, the Psion named Cranim, had been caught making.

* * *

Crackle looked up to see Frostarn entering his office. She was angry, which was normal. She often seemed angry to him. In fact, she was almost always unhappy whenever she was around non-Icewalkers. She tolerated the other moons, but the half-breeds were the lowest creature. They were lower than the muck on her boots.

"I warned you this would happen," she said. She rested her hands on his desk and stared down at him. "Myrik's gotten the prisoners all excited, there'll be trouble soon and you can count on it. We need to squash the rebellion. Kill half the prisoners and maybe even kill Myrik himself."

To the point. He liked that about Icewalkers. They also generally respected authority, but Frostarn only seemed to respect the authority of other Icewalkers. It made her dangerous. A trifle predictable, but dangerous. He had to admit the prospect was tempting, though. Myrik was good, he always got results, but he was eccentric, resorting to things that most people wouldn't consider. And the prisoners had managed a revolt of sorts. Slave labour was difficult to procure though, so a mass execution would set things back. "Maybe finding ring leaders and making an example of them would be a good idea. Kill them yourself, don't let Myrik get involved. He's useful, for now."

"Is he?" she spat on the floor, and Crackle made a note to have someone clean that up. "Damned Psions. He probably used his brain to make you think he's useful. If you were smart, you'd get rid of him. But what the hell, your funeral." With that she stormed out of the room, slamming the door a little on her way.

* * *

Was it morning already? Cameo rolled out of bed and donned his uniform. Another long day. They needed an update from the Psion Moon on how the raids had gone, whether a search of Psot and Cranim's homes had turned up anything. It was probably too early, but it wouldn't hurt. He also wanted to go over Captain Shiner's sensor logs again. It felt like there was something he was missing, something substantial that he would probably kick himself for not noticing earlier.

Psikaris was still asleep, for which he was grateful. She needed her sleep, even if she wanted to be supportive. It was so frustrating a feeling, wanting to shelter and let her feel needed at the same time.

Quietly he moved into the kitchen and prepared himself breakfast. A cup of coffee, heavily sugared, and a bowl of cereal. He wondered what the security detail outside were doing for food. An odd little thought. They probably took watches in shifts. They'd be fine. Would he, though? He walked along a precipice of paranoia, he'd even found himself questioning the safety of his dinner last night. The kidnaps were happening in a variety of ways, from the sounds of it. It wouldn't take much to incapacitate a man. He couldn't let fear cloud his judgement. Too much depended on him, not the least of which was his bond mate in the next room.

Which meant that he had lingered at home too long. He threw on his coat and headed out to his office. Mystan and Nitro would meet him there.

* * *

Her rotation had left. For reasons that she could only assume, she had been told she could skip the work shift. Myrik's twisted sense of humour, no doubt, rather than any kind of remorse. Black Tiger curled tighter on the mattress. The thought of what had nearly happened replayed itself over and over. She wasn't naive in the ways on men and women, she knew what happened there, but have a first time like that? Even standing naked in front of them felt traumatic. She felt like having about fifty showers just from the lewd looks.

Those looks hadn't been on Psychro's face, and she had to admit a certain pleasure in that. He had looked angry. She'd flinched when he hit the force field and had almost hoped he would burst through. If only she knew which controls operated it, she might have been able to help him. Myrik had been too focussed on her, and tormenting her, so she might have been able to hit the buttons. There had been six guards, any fight would have ended as quick as it had earlier.

They'd been so close. They'd almost killed Myrik and effected an escape. What had gone wrong? The guards had moved too quick, the prisoners had no powers. It all added up to a sound defeat. When the first rotation returned, they were talking about it, and how brutal the guards had been. Doubtless they were trying to quash any future rebellion.

Had that rebellion made Myrik do what he'd done to her? Would she have gotten off lighter without it? The vile memory of his mind inside hers, that insidious voice commanding her, flashed back. She'd been made to undress him. She'd seen her first real naked man and she had almost seen six more. If she felt this bad without the actual act, she thought miserably, what damage would have been done to her psyche if they had raped her.

The door opened again, and she cried out, imagining Myrik changing his mind. The noise came as a squeak, but a painfully loud one to her ears. Luckily, or not, it wasn't Myrik. It was an Icewalker woman, the one she'd heard was named Frostarn she figured. "Five of you. Here, now."

Frostarn wasn't a woman to mess around. She could be brutal, enjoyed torture, but got nastier if she didn't get her way. Black Tiger saw no one moving and held her breath. What would she do now? Choose for herself, it appeared. A dozen guards spread through the room and dragged five to the centre of the room. While the selections were being made, Black Tiger saw what was about to happen. She knew immediately. She had seen it happen on her home moon on more than one occasion. Coils of rope were looped over the rafters, with nooses formed. The five women struggled against their captors, but they were weakened and outnumbered.

Frostarn led them up onto a large block of ice and had the guards affix the nooses to their necks. "You freaks rebelled against your betters this morning. The five of you will serve as examples. There will be no dinner tonight, either." She stepped forward, fire crackling at her fingertips, heating the ice beneath them. Slowly, painfully slowly, the ice platform melted causing the women, one by one, to begin dangling. Frostarn stood transfixed, watching with pleasure as each woman's struggles grew weaker and weaker, gradually stopping.

When they were satisfied that the five women were dead, Frostarn turned to the guards and gestured to the guards. "Now for the men's barracks."

* * *

"Psot isn't very interesting," Mystan reported when they were assembled. "A toy shop owner who has been in the same location for thirty years. His father ran it before him. We're looking into shipping manifests now, a Lunatak smuggled in a shipping crate is a distinct possibility. Strangely, he's not at work today."

"Very. We've got the word out, if he surfaces we'll grab him. What about the other. Cranim?" Cameo asked.

"He's a little better. Three years ago he was found spraying the letters 'MP' on the side of a building. I did a little digging and the store was owned by a Psion/Royal. The owner chased him down and reported him to the Psion authorities. Eight months later the owner went missing. Cranim claimed to know nothing about it, but the authorities suspected otherwise. We're looking into known accomplices. We'll see."

"MP? That sounds familiar. I found that on the side of my ship shortly after Luna promoted me. We stopped a Graviton suicide bomber after that. He shouted something about the Moons of Purity before detonating himself. Killed one, injured five others," Cameo thought aloud. It had been horrific, but they didn't hear anything else from the group so it was swept under the carpet. Now he wished it hadn't.

"So these people have been around at least three years. Great," Nitro said, rubbing his face. "We need to catch them before they kidnap anyone else."

"They're still active. A Graviton reported that her room mate never returned home last night. She was last seen at a bar and left with a stranger. The bartender was too drunk to make an identification, naturally." Mystan rolled his eyes. Only on that moon would the bartender be more intoxicated than his clientele. The report had been on the news, so he'd called the Graviton Moon immediately for more details. "The victim is a woman in her mid-twenties. A mix of Graviton, Icewalker and Psion. Name's Rathja."

Mystan paused as Cameo's jaw dropped. Definitely not a good sign. He didn't have a portfolio on the woman, but suspected that wouldn't be necessary. He raised an eyebrow at the Solarian/Icewalker. "That's Psychro's kid. 'Karis told me about her once. Get me all the information you can on it. We have to go to the Graviton Moon, and I've got another call to make."

* * *

Rathja opened her eyes. She didn't know where she was, but it stank of mouldy potatoes. No. That was the sack draped over her head. Her hands were bound tightly, painfully so, behind her back, and her feet felt like they were bound together too. So. Her date had decided to slip something in her drink then. It didn't last long, whatever it was, which might mean anything. Had he already had his fun? No, probably not. Two people were talking in front of her. The man she'd met at the bar and someone he called Myrik? No, that was who they were taking her to.

Who was Myrik, and why did he want her? It was hard to hear exactly what they were saying. The Graviton was saying something about wanting his money, that he had a job to get back to. The other, was insistent that he help transport her. That he couldn't carry someone of her girth. He sounded Psion, and so the remark insulted her. She struggled against her bonds, screaming. The hood was removed, momentarily, and a rag jammed in her mouth. She realized now that they were in a vehicle of some sort. Now that she could see she could see the man she'd met, as she suspected, and a pasty looking Psion. It was the latter who had taken off the hood.

"Quiet. We're taking you to a family reunion, only I don't think your father will be happy to see you," the Psion said, as he replaced the hood to hide where they were headed.

Psychro. It was hardly the first time his family had had to pay for his dalliances. Probably an angry husband or brother. She didn't realize he was on the Graviton Moon, truth be told. Her mother, bless her heart, was still on good terms with him. She even took pride in being the president of his fan club. Number 104 on his list, she'd bragged once. She had a list of women who had heard of his fame, probably from her, who she would set him up with if he was looking for a one-night stand.

Not that Rathja had ever done more than see a picture of the man in the last few years. The last time she'd *seen* him was on her twelfth birthday. Her mother had insisted on him coming to her party. Unfortunately, one of the other mothers had been a former flame and that had caused all kinds of fuss.

Who had he managed to piss off this time, and why were they taking it out on her? Since struggling didn't seem to be getting her anywhere she could only hope that her father had a heart in his chest and would do whatever these people wanted so she could go free.

* * *

The image on the other end of the line was quiet. Cameo saw the stunned look on Psikaris' face and knew that the same thoughts were whirling around in her head. Was this a personal attack? First her brother and now her niece. The two kidnaps couldn't possibly be a coincidence. Even though he didn't consider himself overly bright, even he could see the connection. But if it was personal, who was it targeted at? Psikaris? If these Moons of Purity people even tried anything against her they would regret it.

"I suppose I should contact her mother," Psikaris said. Cameo had never met her, but Psikaris had mentioned meeting the Graviton. Heavy Bevy was supposedly very friendly, very polite.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps hearing the news from 'Karis would soften the blow. "Does she know about Psychro?" he asked, suddenly. Two pieces of bad news would be terrible for her to hear.

"I don't know. Thanks for mentioning that. Take care of yourself, and come home safely." Psikaris touched the screen in a gentle caress and ended the communication.

She would be fine, he reminded himself sternly. There were security people outside every entrance. She had a personal tracking device on her, and people monitoring her every move. Short of having a group inside the room with her, there wasn't much else he could do. "You could be with her," a voice inside his head whispered, and it was tempting. But she was a grown woman. He couldn't protect her all day every day. An accident could happen at any time. Was he supposed to hold her hand while she used the bathroom, lest she hurt herself? No. He had to have faith in her. Besides, he was needed here as well, to find Psychro and the others.

Turning from his desk he found Mystan waiting against the doorframe. Seeing that he had Cameo's attention the Psion straightened himself. "I've been doing some thinking," he said. "Of late many of the abductions are connected in some way to ranking officials. Half of those remaining people are ones like Mind Grind, hybrids taken while another abduction is occurring. We don't know much about this group or their motives, but that sounds like they're aiming for something to me."

It made sense. Black Tiger and Psychro were both tied to high ranking officials. Might Mind Grind have been safe if he hadn't happened to be on the same ship. He also noticed that Mystan waited until Nitro was elsewhere before bringing this up. That he could worry about later. Mystan's current issue was more important.

"What about those who don't fit the pattern?" Cameo asked, as they left his office and walked to the landing area. Nitro had gone ahead to make sure Cameo's personal shuttle was fuelled.

"There are five. I'm not sure yet on three, but two work in the palace. A cook's assistant and a guard. I'll continue to work on the last three."

A string of curses erupted. "Two connections to the palace. A threat to Luna perhaps? If someone could get deep into the heart of the palace they might be able to neutralize the queen. We have to let her know."

"More than that, I think it's time we let the populace know. If I know one thing about our people it how much they respect what Luna's done for us. Someone is bound to send information about the Moons of Purity." Cameo chose not to point out how Mystan knew about that. Eighty-one years ago Luna had led an expedition to Third Earth, when she and her crew vanished civil war followed. Leaders were crowned and deposed of seemingly on a monthly basis. The moons had become more and more withdrawn from one another. Mystan had been instrumental in the most recent battle for the throne, supporting Aristarchus and trying to assassinate Tycho.

"You might be right," he said at length. "These people must know by now that we're looking for them, so we aren't tipping our hands. If they can get at so many different people in different places and by different methods then they must have people in sensitive areas already. It will help us warn the public too, hybrids everywhere need to watch themselves and take precautions."

"Exactly. You should talk to Luna first, but then we can broadcast from the Graviton Moon. I suggest you let Nitro or I do the talking. You're a target as it is because of your blood, you don't need to make yourself a bigger one."

* * *

A trio of fighters rose off the ground as Cameo's shuttle took off in to space. Nitro wasn't sure how well he could trust any of them, but the Captain of the Fleet didn't seem to be thinking along the same lines which was why Nitro sat at the controls. If, for some reason, one of those pilots were part of the Moons of Purity then he wanted the best pilot available manning the weapons. Cameo was, strictly speaking, the better pilot, but his judgement was clouded by personal issues, and Nitro appreciated that. Loyalty and family were Icewalker staples. Even if one wasn't liked, they were always kin.

Which brought his own mind to Knave, an issue which he forced out of his head. If he let himself become distracted then defence would fall to Mystan or Nuiane, and he didn't have confidence that either had ever touched weapons systems. Besides, Cameo and Mystan were talking to Luna over the radio, so they were otherwise occupied.

He listened to the conversation and found himself grudgingly agreeing with the assessment. Any Lunatak with even a trace of pride would turn in a traitor. The Psions, he thought with a snort, would probably expect profit out of it where an Icewalker would see it as duty.

* * *

Myrik woke up. A warm body pressed against him. He smiled contentedly. Venting his mounting frustrations on Fantasy had been incredible. She hadn't seemed to enjoy it, but his current mood seemed to prefer it that way. He was pretty sure he had even called her Psychro at one point.

That man. That maddening man. He was handsome, everything he could possibly want in a person, but with a spirit so strong that he was proving more difficult to break than most of his other prey. He stroked Fantasy's shoulder, causing her to flinch. Her eyes opened and he smiled winsomely at her. The mental intrusion to prevent her from causing him harm had been the best thing he'd ever done to her. Myrik was too aware of her inner desires. She would kill him in his sleep if she could. But she needed him too. Needed him to protect her. She was a pampered little princess. Sure, she thought of herself as tough, she wouldn't go so far as to cry over a broken nail, but she liked the finer things in life.

He nipped her throat, pleased to hear her low growl. It showed that the hate was still there. He thought about taking her again, using her like she deserved, but a greater pleasure awaited. This was almost his final gambit in the breaking of Psychro. And then, once Myrik had gotten the information that Crackle wanted, Psychro would be all his for the taking. A second collar and leash might be appropriate, he thought. "You won't be needed tonight, my dear," he whispered in her ear. "Psychro will break. I feel it." With that he gestured back to her post while he dressed quickly.

* * *

The ground sure was solid. Rathja assumed that they must finally be at their destination. She'd been hauled out of the vehicle and carted around for the last few minutes. That had been one long ride, she had drifted off to sleep again at some point and wakened to find the sun beating down on her. The hood was pulled off her head and the bonds on her wrists and ankles were removed. But if she thought she could effect an escape, she was wrong. A pair of strangely outfitted men had weapons trained on her. The two who had brought her left and another came up, this one a Psion. He was grinning, like a predator stalking wounded prey. Which she was, effectively. She'd been cooped up for so long that the blood wasn't circulating in her extremities yet.

The Psion appraised her carefully. "Psychro's daughter. His only child. Amazing how genetics work, I can barely see the resemblance." She felt like cattle being sold at market. Thankfully he wasn't poking and prodding at her, but she felt like he had considered it. A more pressing concern arose.

"What do you want with me?" she asked.

He patted her head, and she swiped at the hand. It was a condescending gesture and she knew it. "Ah, my dear, you have no idea the scope of your troubles right now, so cruel of Drell not to tell you. No matter. I am Myrik, and I have arranged for you to meet your father. He has information on the palace our organization needs, and you are going to convince him to betray the empire. If you succeed, freedom, and all that's at stake is your miserable life. Come, let's see if he feels like talking."

That was a little reassuring. From what she knew of the man he didn't have very high morals. Heck, a few nice words and he would probably have given up his own mother. What this Myrik needed to do was bring a few pretty faces around and he'd do anything this organization wanted.

She was led down a nice hall to a door and pushed inside. Instantly her heart sank a little. Whatever was going on felt bigger than she'd thought. Six more men, clad in the same uniform as her escorts, were standing around the room. She saw the numerous cells and the occupants huddled in them. Suddenly, Rathja wasn't nearly as confident of her survival.

"Good morning, Psychro. It's morning now, in case you didn't know," Myrik said, walking forward up to one cell in particular. With nowhere else to go, as the guards blocked the doorway, she approached her father. He looked haggard, almost exhausted, and he stared daggers at Myrik. Never had she seen that kind of emotion on anyone. Her hopes shrank even more.

"Go to hell," Psychro said. He stared at her, trying to figure out who she was. But then it had been nine years since she'd seen him, so it made sense.

"I brought you a guest, someone who hasn't seen you in years. Family, even." Myrik's tone was light and mocking, like it was all part of an elaborate game.

"Rathja!"

"So you remember her. Good, I was rather hoping you would. It makes what comes next a little more important. You see, Psychro, you still have information we want. I'm getting rather antsy, especially after your conduct the last two days. I've been embarrassed by you, attacked by you, and scorned. It's making me look bad to my superiors. So I give you a chance to give in. Tell me the access codes and we'll be fine."

"Or what? You'll rape her like you tried with Black Tiger? Where is she?"

Myrik stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. She tried to move, but found her body suddenly unresponsive. What was he doing? He was a Psion, probably messing in her head. Between the invasion and Psychro's comment she was feeling very scared. She didn't know any of the situation between this Black Tiger and these two, but she didn't think she wanted to either. "You would like that, wouldn't you. To see your beautiful daughter naked and spread before you. Disgusting pervert that you are," Myrik said, and immediately Rathja knew how hypocritical the words were. "But no. If I am anything, I am unpredictable. Her honour will remain intact, or it would if it wasn't for the drunken night behind the Brick Wall Tavern." Rathja blushed at the memory, and tried to break his control. How effortlessly he was rooting through her mind.

At a gesture the six guards surrounded her and Myrik stepped to the side of the cell. "In a moment these fine gentlemen are going to see how long it takes to beat someone to death, unless you step in and save her. We're not asking much. Just give us your sister's bond mate. You don't like him anyway, so you're really not losing anything."

Rathja stared from one man to another. The guards certainly looked more than willing to carry out the order. Psikaris' bond mate? The one person in the world that Psychro would never let come to harm. Lovely. "Psychro... Dad, please do it. Tell them what they want," she begged. She fell to her knees, not realizing the psychic hold had been released.

"I'm sorry. I love you, but I can't. For the empire."

"For Psikaris you mean. I'm your daughter. If you love me, set me free!" Psychro turned away, but she saw tears streaming down his cheeks. Deep down she knew he was being honest, but the rational part of her mind couldn't accept it. The first blow came from behind, a clubbing strike to her back.

* * *

He couldn't watch. Psychro stared at the far wall, knowing that his own flesh and blood was being pummelled behind him. He could hear the sickening thuds from their fists, the crackling of bones, the tortured screams. His name over and over and over again.

Inside, Psychro yearned to help her. Her life could be spared with a single word, but the words wouldn't come out. More was riding on this than one life. The lives of many hung in the balance, including others that he cared for.

Silence, other than a cough. Psychro turned and saw the mangled body. Rathja, his precious Rathja, was still alive. Myrik cradled her against his chest, blood streaming down her face as unfocussed eyes turned in his direction. "There's still time, Psychro," Myrik said. His voice was soft and almost tender, as though he truly regretted what was happening. Psychro knew better, though. "She can be saved if we get her to a hospital. I'll see to it, you know. Let her go to the hospital and be fixed up, good as new. She might even tell the authorities about me, she knows my name after all. They're looking for you already, we know they're investigating all kinds of leads. This might be the hope they need. Proof that you live, too. Psikaris will be happy to hear it."

"You're a liar." There was no chance that Myrik would let Rathja live. The organization was too big to risk it all on something like that. He would agree and Myrik would kill them both anyway. Psychro wasn't born yesterday.

"You don't have much choice but to believe me. You've seen what we can do. We can get anyone we want. How many family members do I have to bring in here?" Myrik said. An image, no doubt implanted by the Psion, of Psikaris in the same position appeared. The sight was so appalling that Psychro threw up on the floor. "I believe I've made my point. You have five seconds before I withdraw the offer."

What choice did he have? He could watch as his entire family was slaughtered, or he could take a chance that there was some shred of honour in him. He didn't trust Myrik, he couldn't, and yet. Rathja moaned, and that small sound did it. "You win, you son of a bitch," he said, hanging his head.

"Splendid! You two, take her to the nearest hospital." As Rathja was carried out, Psychro hoped he'd made the right decision. And if he was wrong, the last image she would have of her father was him saving her and betraying his people.

* * *

Fantasy couldn't believe what had happened. The disgusting pervert who liked to call himself her master had been in such a hurry to leave that he had forgotten to chain her up. More to the point, he'd also left his computer behind. She knew that the door was locked, though she tried it anyway just to make sure. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

The computer was easy to hack into, she'd watched him enter his password often enough hoping for such a chance. People thought of her as shallow and almost ditsy, which was a useful image to portray. Myrik certainly thought her less than intelligent. Oh how she hated him. He filled her mind with so many neural blocks to prevent her from hurting him and filled her body with his... she shook her head of the memories. She needed to focus. Somewhere in the computer was information she could use to help herself and the others.

Psychro was about to break, Myrik had said. He seemed so confident that she knew he was probably right. They wanted something to do with the palace, she'd pieced together. It made sense. His file wasn't particularly interesting, though she found the family connection mentioned. A brother-in-law who commanded the fleet. Another half-breed. If they took him out it would be a major coup. Nothing jumped out at her, though.

Taking out Myrik was the key to any revolution, she knew. Myrik was cocky, and made sure that he was important in the grand scheme of things. The mental blocks preventing them from using their powers were tied to him. Without him actively re-enforcing them they would dissolve away. He'd teased her about that prospect once, knowing full well that she couldn't hurt him. But if she could get the information out maybe one of the others could.

But who and how? She skimmed through the other bios. Someone with a strong mind was needed, someone whose natural skills might overcome the weakening barrier. She continued through the files: Kraedon, Psychro, Black Tiger, Mind Grind, Chedra... The last one caught her attention. A Psion mixed with Cheetah. Two races known for psychic powers, that would probably boost the odds of overcoming the mental block.

Fantasy began laughing. Chedra was perfect. Myrik had made a note on her bio to do a more extensive exam of her later because she had actually resisted his control momentarily during the failed revolt. Memories of that chest wound surfaced. To inflict that kind of damage one would need a strong will, and the Cheetah speed would only help that. So that was half the problem down, and she suspected she knew how to get a warning to this woman. It meant playing nice with Myrik a little longer, but it would surely work. She continued scanning the computer for as long as she could. Myrik had a distinct footfall, and she was sure she could shut off the computer and be back in the corner before he knew she'd been such a bad girl. For now, he had to think her obedient and broken. Soon, though, he would learn otherwise.

* * *

Examining the latest batch of Caramium at the main security checkpoint, what little of the radioactive material had been harvested, Crackle was startled to find a pair of guards carrying the broken body of a woman. Disposing of corpses was a tricky job around the base, so many died from exposure, but this one didn't look dead yet. A coughing fit by what appeared to be a half Graviton crossed with something else confirmed this. "Where are you taking her?" he demanded, stepping in front of them.

The two saluted as best they could. "Myrik told us to take her to the nearest hospital sir. She needs it after the beating she took," one said rather nervously.

Crackle was pleased to see this attitude, it meant that there was some respect for his authority around here. But not from Myrik, it seemed. Why would he do something so foolish as to help a prisoner? Crackle wasn't fond of these half bred freaks, and could care less whether they lived or died, provided they served their purpose. What he did care about was his business. If the prisoner, whoever she was, told the authorities what she'd seen, they would try and track him down, shut down the operation, and throw the leaders into prison or worse. Graviton justice was an oxymoron, but when they were motivated, it was harsh. Executions were common enough for the big crimes.

"No you aren't. You said she took a beating? Finish the job and dump her with the rest." Confident they would obey, he carried the small box containing the Caramium and took the elevator back to the surface, trying not to hear the sounds of the assault.

* * *

"...Seven, one, epsilon," Psychro said, hating every word. There was no turning back now. The codes were out in the open now, all hastily written down on a scrap of paper by Myrik. A gnawing fear that he'd made a mistake was sitting in the pit of his stomach.

"Very good. And you didn't even try and trick me. I'm impressed," Myrik said. Psychro looked confused, which brought that smug grin on the Psion's lips. "You didn't think I would take you just at your word, did you? I read your mind and I know that you gave me all the codes you knew, like a good boy. Now, I need to go report these to my boss, but I'll be back to reward you for your faithfulness. You've been a very good boy."

Psychro's skin crawled at the lusty look he'd been given. It left little doubt what 'reward' he intended to give him. He desperately needed to get out before Myrik returned. It occurred to him, as he settled back in front of the bare rock that he was chipping away at, that the guards would probably take it easy on him. Myrik seemed to be important around here and might be displeased if his prize was damaged. It made the work a little easier to do.

He really had nothing against homosexual or bisexual behaviour, it just wasn't his thing. One of his past lovers had tried to bring a second man into their tryst and he'd been so uncomfortable with the concept that he'd ended the relationship immediately. Myrik wouldn't be giving him the choice, and there wouldn't be a woman involved either, which made the wrongness so much worse.

* * *

Getting Luna's approval was important, and Cameo was grateful that she was willing to try things his way. She told him she would beef up security around her, and keep a close watch on them. Amok was still the safest bet in protecting her, as he seemed largely immune to the powers of most Lunataks. He was only one, though, and the enemy's numbers were as yet unknown. While Amok could often handle himself in a fight, he did have limits.

What he really wanted to do was beef up security around Psikaris. If his fears were accurate, and someone was targeting those in positions of power, then both he and she would be prime candidates. Of Luna's advisors he could count on one finger the number of hybrid Lunataks; himself. And what better way to get at him than through his bond mate? But they didn't live at the palace. They lived near it, in a apartment complex. They were in a lower security area. Vulnerable.

He looked over and saw Nitro being prepared for the news conference. It brought a trace of a smile to see the two ordinarily serious men being fussed over to make them presentable on the screen. A Graviton in grey ushered them to a podium.

* * *

Heavy Bevy clutched her handkerchief in a house not so far away from the studio, though she had no way of knowing. Her daughter abducted. The thought of it was horrifying. And Psikaris said that Psychro was too. To lose them both... She shuddered. She had the television on, she'd forgotten to turn it off when Psikaris called, so she paused when she saw that her favourite soap was being interrupted for a special report. She un-muted the television.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a man whom the screen identified as Mystan said. "We have uncovered a threat to both the empire and to Queen Luna, may she reign forever. An organization believed to be calling itself the Moons of Purity are engaged in kidnaps all over the system. Our best guess at present is over a hundred in the last three years. The victims are people of mixed race heritage."

The one called Nitro took the microphone next. "We don't have a complete idea what the purpose behind the abductions is, or what they have planned, but an attack on one Lunatak is an attack on all of us. We ask for anyone with any information about either the kidnaps or the Moons of Purity contact your local authorities immediately. Every Lunatak is honour bound to ensure that anyone who would hurt the empire is brought to justice."

"Too many families have already been hurt. People torn from their loved one, friends mourning. Don't let the next victim be someone you know."

"Mixed race Luantaks are encouraged to take extra precautions for their own safety, and report suspicious activity. Thank you."

An empty beer can smacked into the screen. Heavy Bevy felt incredibly angry. If only that announcement had come sooner her baby might be safe, and now there was nothing she could do but sit and wait.

* * *

"That went well," Mystan noted, joining Cameo and Nitro over by a refreshment table. He selected an oily pastry from the pile and bit into it. The green filling was salty to the taste, but not overly unpleasant.

"Laid it on a bit thick, didn't you?" Nitro said, helping himself a pastry with a dark purple swirl on the top.

He considered it for a moment. "The honour and justice line might work well on Icewalkers such as yourself, but I think you'll find the empire loyalty stronger throughout the Moons. And referencing family and friends is simply a case of tugging on the heartstrings. Either way, we're bound to get some responses soon enough."

* * *

"We have to respond!" Frostarn said, slamming the palm of her hand on the table. Crackle had replayed the report to the Icewalker, Drell, Raven, and Myrik. He'd had the sense to record the message immediately when they interrupted the cooking show he'd been watching. How in blazes had they learned so much? His own people indicated that the authorities weren't even close.

Time was running out. With the nature of the message, and the respected persons involved, someone was bound to let slip something. The operation would either have to be scrubbed or shifted elsewhere. Perhaps it wasn't too late to try and influence either of those men to his side. Everyone had a price, the trick was finding it. "I agree. But how? Myrik I need those codes."

"Right here. I was actually on my way here with them when you called. Psychro broke easily enough with the right pressure. A little threat to his family and he crumbled," the Psion said, tossing his notepad on the desk.

Crackle was still annoyed with him over the stunt with the injured prisoner. Maybe that was how word had leaked out. "I had a prisoner killed. The guards said you were going to let her go to a hospital. Have there been others? Maybe one of them blabbed to the authorities," he said bluntly.

"You what? I gave my word."

"I don't care about your word. I've half a mind to kill you here for that little stunt. Between the rebellion and this?" Crackle stood, noting that Frostarn and Raven stood up with him while Drell remained neutral. Whether the telekinetic would get involved if a fight broke out would be interesting.

"There's another possibility, you know." Aggravatingly, Myrik didn't flinch, so confident in his position was he. "Those two Psions never reported in. Psot and Cranim. Maybe it was them. I never trusted Cranim. Too much of a street thug."

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Drell commented. "We can figure out who's to blame later. We have a crisis to deal with. How are we going to resolve it?" Silence hovered over the room. Drell was absolutely right. Petty infighting wasn't going to solve the problem. They needed a plan.

* * *

He watched the proceedings with only mild interest. Myrik listened to the debating around the table, none of them sure what to do in a crisis situation. They'd grown lax over the years, too comfortable in their position and confident that no one would ever find out what was going on. Oh, certainly, the prospect had cropped up once or twice. But a well placed envelope of money was usually enough for the some lawmaker to turn a blind eye. It was only half breeds disappearing, and usually they had been good about selecting only those from the lower class. Miscreants and criminals who wouldn't be missed anyway.

The push to get into the palace, to upset the balance of power, had caused higher profile people to be taken, and that had led to this inevitable situation. What had they expected, really? They were, by and large, idiots. Idiots who he rather enjoyed the company of because they provided him with a playground to run about in unsupervised. No one questioned him because the results were there. He'd flung a notebook on the table so often with vital information, codes, names, places, schedules, that they relied on him. They relied on him to keep the population in control within the compound, and he'd slipped only the once.

That failed revolution with that spotted bitch that he clearly needed to spend more time with. He would rip her mind to shreds trying to figure out what had happened. Was it something specific to her, or was it his preoccupation?

Ah yes, Psychro of House Myntaello. Such a curious specimen he was. He'd encountered those with spirit before, those with sculpted bodies, but Psychro was the complete package. He had a nice package too, one he knew how to use, watching his lovemaking to Fantasy proved that. While confirming the codes, Myrik had taken the opportunity to scan his memories and saw the plethora of women in his life, which only confirmed what he had heard about the man.

He showed such devotion and attention to his lovers, even if it was mostly to assuage his ego and puff up his reputation. The thought of such tenderness on himself made Myrik's skin shiver. But to do that he would need a tighter hold on the man's emotions. Some added motivation that he didn't already have. But what? If threatening Black Tiger got an offer, what would it take to get more?

The answer was obvious. There was one thing, or rather one person, that possessed Psychro's soul. One person whose capture might spur such fervour. If Myrik held Psikaris' life ransom Psychro would be the most devoted slave ever. He smiled wickedly, while his compatriots were oblivious to his inner thoughts.

Focussing again on the conversation, he heard confusion. Bluster, threats. Frostarn wanted them to turn their full arsenal on the palace itself to send a message. As if that would work. "If I may," he said aloud, quietly enough that they all stopped talking to hear him. "It seems to me that our focus is on removing Luna from power. With her eliminated there will be confusion. The nearest blood heirs to the throne have removed themselves from contention; Aristarchus is in prison, and Tycho has renounced his claim. Therefore I suggest we concentrate on that."

"They'll be expecting an attack on the queen. You heard that," Raven said, falling smoothly into the trap. The Darkling only spoke when there was a thought in his head, so he didn't speak very often.

"Which is why we divert their attention. What I propose is an attack on the highest ranked half-breed. They know we're after them and so they'll assume that's the focus of our assault. While they're looking towards Cameo, our primary group attacks the palace. We have the access codes, we have the layout. We sneak some people in beforehand, sneak others in during, and kill the queen before they're even aware we're there. Simple. And as a bonus, we might just capture two more high ranking slaves," Myrik said, clapping his hands.

The idea sank into the heads of his friends, spurred by a gentle telepathic nudge. It sounded reasonable enough to them, and they would never be aware of Myrik's true goal. He would find a way to claim Psikaris for himself and then Psychro would be his.


	4. Chapter 4

Purification by Jonathan Prideaux  
Chapter 4

The first anonymous call came in within twenty minutes of the broadcast. A person who had overheard a neighbour talking about the Moons of Purity. Ten minutes after that a frightened mother called asking if that's what had happened to her son. More calls came flooding in, many along similar lines. Sorting the true ones from the hoaxes and misinterpretations would be a trick, but the news had been worth it.

Cameo left the bulk of the work to Mystan and Nitro for the time being, while he took Nuiane to the Purple Pint bar and grill. It was the same place from which his niece-in-law had been abducted. The proprietor of the place, a relatively clean locale to Cameo's amazement, was a hefty man who was missing an ear. If asked, he would cheerfully tell the story of passing out while doing some maintenance on the bar and finding that he'd super glued the ear to the counter. Cameo didn't ask, he had other concerns on his mind. "I understand a young woman was kidnapped last night, and this was the place she was last seen. I know you've spoken to the authorities, but I need to know anything you might know about it."

Luckily the bartender seemed to recognize him and knew his rank. The man swayed slightly, suggesting he'd already consumed some of his stock. "Yeah. Some man came and bought her a dreenk. Offered to buy her a cab."

"Who was he? What did he look like? Have you ever seen him before?"

One Ear blinked. "Too many questions. I deedn't recognize him. He bought some good beer though. Not many appreciate a fine Red Pattern beer, I theenk it's the licorice inside." Cameo waited and repeated his questions. "Oh right. Graviton, average height, average weight. Purple hair." So he looked like a generic Graviton. That would be useful, Cameo thought mournfully. "Oh! This might help. He had two eyes."

Nuiane and Cameo stared at one another for a very long moment, confused as to why this was a useful fact. "You wouldn't happen to have a video camera would you?"

"Why sure! You wanting to video tape yourself weeth your girlfriend? I can hold the camera for you." A blush worked its way across Cameo's face. He had a bond mate back home, and was more than happy with her, even if Icewalker law allowed for multiple partners.

Cameo tried to reign in his temper. It wouldn't help him in this scenario. "No, I mean surveillance equipment. Something that might show the Graviton in the bar."

"Oh! You want to see Gravitons een the bar? Just turn around. Plenty of them." The bartender pointed in a sweeping manner, smacking another patron in the shoulder as he did. Cameo sighed and gestured for Nuiane to follow. There was obviously no security system here. This one was too dense to have one, he suspected. They walked back outside and looked briefly at the street. Somewhere around here the abduction had happened. Maybe, he thought, one of the other businesses in the area would have a camera pointed in the right direction. A sighting of the vehicle, even, might help. He explained his idea, in brief, to Nuiane and they split up to hit a few local stores.

* * *

The reprieve from work the previous day had been enjoyable. Now Black Tiger was wishing that she'd enjoyed it a little more. Lifting rocks and pushing carts all day wasn't exactly her cup of tea. Nor was learning what happened to the prisoners when they died. The spot they were dumping their debris today was an older tunnel that had been used up. On the side of it were a pair of corpses that looked like they'd been stripped of meat. They were barely recognizable as living beings anymore.

The Icewalker/Lion woman that she was working with, the same one who had been made to carve Psychro's name in her own belly, began to gag and retch at the sight of the corpses, bits of meat and entrails still stuck to the bones. It struck Black Tiger as odd that she would react that way, given the dietary habits of Icewalkers. Not that her own stomach wasn't doing cartwheels looking at the mess. "Keep moving," a guard shouted, jamming the butt of his rifle against her back. Hurriedly Black Tiger dumped the rock out and helped push the cart back.

No one had told her what the effects of the Caramium were. Such a volatile substance, she knew it killed over prolonged exposure. All her open wounds weren't helping matters, nor was her mental state. Too often already in the three or four days she'd been here, she had lost track too quickly, she had considered ending it all, and the trauma from her near rape hadn't improved her disposition at all. It didn't surprise her at all that prisoners died in this place. The brutal working conditions. The torture. The radiation. The abuse from every angle. It was enough to make her want to scream. But a scream would lead to a beating, and while she wasn't fond of life at the moment, there were better ways to go.

Chedra would find that out. She hadn't talked at all about what had happened in that room, but the bruises, welts and blood spoke volumes. She would suffer more for hurting Myrik, Black Tiger was positive. Having felt what he could do to her, she knew that Chedra would suffer ten times that. She caught herself praying for her.

Which brought her back to Merma. Merma hadn't been happy to see the five women, still dangling like grotesque marionettes. She'd ordered others to help her cut them down and was stunned that none of those in the first rotation had thought to do that. They were scared, all of them. What if Frostarn wanted them kept up there. Wouldn't she be upset? Merma didn't care. She said that the deceased deserved dignity. That was something she liked about the woman. She had such faith. Black Tiger knew that she prayed to her gods every day for salvation.

But where was it? Every day another prisoner died. How many more needed to die before the gods got off their lazy butts and did something about it? Or were people like Frostarn and Myrik right? Did the gods just see half breeds and snub their noses? The attitude was shared by a great many Lunataks. It wasn't fair, but that's the way had always been.

* * *

Fantasy just barely got back to her cushion before Myrik came in. He was whistling a jaunty tune, one that she'd last heard on a construction site. That was both an ill omen and a blessing. On the one hand it meant that he'd gotten what Crackle wanted out of Psychro information wise and was planning on getting what he wanted. On the other hand, if he was in a good mood it would make him more receptive to what she had to say.

Boots soared across the room, landing with a thud next to the bed. A shirt of a hideous orange colour, one she knew he wore to bug her, landed neatly in his pile of dirty laundry. "Ah, Fantasy. What a good pet you are," he said, finally noticing that she was uncollared. He scanned the room to see if she'd disturbed anything but didn't see anything amiss. "I won't be needing you tonight, as I predicted. Psychro was like putty in my hands. But I think you might be a distraction. Maybe I'll put you in Drell's room. He's gone away on some business. He won't mind, just keep out of mischief or else."

The air turned cold for a second as the warning hit her. She knew he'd placed another mental block in her head. What a fool he was. She wouldn't misbehave in Drell's room, that wasn't her plan, though she probably would have if he hadn't done that. She put on a sad face and found her sweetest voice. "M-m-master? May I ask a favour?" she asked. It was so sickly sweet, but it seemed to work. He nodded his head, before rummaging through his drawer for a fresh shirt. "I'm lonely. I would do anything to have another woman I could talk to. Maybe that sweet thing you brought yesterday?" She had to be careful. Myrik knew that Fantasy was not fond of him, and any sweetness might be misinterpreted.

"I'll hold you to that. There are some special things I've been holding in reserve for such an occasion. But not today, I'm saving myself for Psychro. I'll tell you what. Since you have been so pleasant lately I'll grant your request, but first a taste of what I have in mind. He stepped close and kissed her passionately, nibbling on her lip in a way that he knew she had once enjoyed from a previous lover. While she was distracted by his mouth his hand reached up and cupped one breast, tenderly stroking it and then squeezing the nipple as hard as he could. Her lip ripped from his mouth as she shrieked in pain, collapsing back down to her pillow clutching her injured chest. "You haven't seen my special toolbox yet, have you. Oh what fun we're going to have. I'll arrange for the guards to take you to your temporary home."

Fantasy watched him leave, scowling and wincing in pain. Now, more than ever, she knew her plan had to work. She didn't want any part of the S&amp;M games he was likely to pull. One of her boyfriends had tried to encourage her to try it once, and she had to experiment, but even the fuzzy handcuffs had been a huge turnoff. She'd sworn then that it would never happen again. Apparently, she'd been wrong.

* * *

The Graviton Moon was comprised largely of wide open plains, rolling hills and shallow valleys. Throughout the landscape were scattered small towns and a few larger cities. In one of these cities, situated at the bottom of one of the valleys, a man had a serious problem. For the last few years he had made a tidy profit off the organization known as the Moons of Purity. His job, not including the regular police work he did, was to compare the list of names he received with the missing persons database. Whenever there was a match, he would tackle the investigation himself and declare the case unsolved. In return, an envelope of money would appear at his front doorstep.

The curtain was coming down now. All over the five moons, people were sending in tips to their local authorities. Many of the tips were either vague or based on nothing more than a personal grudge, but there were enough coming in that he couldn't afford to bury them and pretend they didn't exist, it would be too suspicious if every precinct gave tips except one.

To make matters worse, it had been loosely implied that if he failed to co-operate as the group wished, he would find his son, a half-breed himself, missing. Snap Gap groaned inwardly at the dilemma. The only way he could come out with his neck and his son was if everything happened quickly. Which meant a full confession. His first order of business was to call his son's school and get the boy out of class and into a safe location, then he had to gather up his files and make another call.

* * *

Time was running out, and Psychro knew it. Every noise caused him to look over at the door, waiting for it to open and Myrik to come. He would soon, he'd promised. There had been a scare moments ago, when Frostarn had come in and dragged one of his neighbours into that back room. No prisoner seemed able to come out of that room in one piece, especially if Frostarn was in there too. But Frostarn was a pushover. He could handle a person like her, Myrik was harder. It boiled down to rationales. Frostarn hated hybrids, she took out her dislike on them in a physical fashion. It was a hatred that had been passed from parent to child, a need to prove that pure bred Icewalkers were superior to all others. He'd heard the arguments before, could almost understand them, he just didn't believe them.

Myrik was different. Myrik enjoyed tormenting others, got a thrill out of being in charge. It was possibly even a need of his to have authority over others. But it wasn't so much a physical torment that Myrik enjoyed as it was a mental one, and that was an area that Psychro couldn't comprehend. He sometimes found it gratifying to punch someone into submission, as it would be if he ever got his hands on the Psion, but to take away free will? And for what? A gratification that some money and a hooker could buy?

The rock face in front of him chipped away, revealing blessedly, a collection of wires that he could barely see through the hole he had made. He checked where the guards were and tried to squeeze a finger through the gap. He could, just barely. It was tight, but with a little more work he would be through.

His luck ran out. The door at the far end opened and Myrik sauntered in. He wore a pale blue shirt that wasn't properly buttoned up, exposing a hint of greying chest hair. His pants were tight, revealing just how happy Myrik was to see him. He walked straight up to the cell and deactivated it. Psychro was stopped before he could even move. "Follow me," Myrik intoned, imposing his will on him. The guards snickered and pointed as he obediently trailed behind the Psion. "And you six might want to repair the hole in his cell. We wouldn't want our intrepid pet to escape, would we?" The snickering stopped, and Psychro cursed.

They walked in silence to Myrik's room and stepped inside. The room was tidied, and he saw that Fantasy was conspicuous by her absence. "We have the place to ourselves, tonight. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for our group and I will have to leave you briefly. It's a shame, I know. But that just makes what happens next even more special."

Psychro found Myrik affixing a collar to his neck, trapping him by the same chain that Fantasy was normally held by. He hoped she was alright, and felt sympathy for her. How many nights had she been in his place, forced to do whatever Myrik wanted. The mental hold released, but Psychro didn't bother doing more than give the chain a token tug. The Psion was out of reach, laying on his side on the bed. "Now then, Psychro, how do you want to do this?"

"I don't."

"That's not an option. Tonight we are going to have sex, it's a fact of life. As much as saying the sky is blue, though you haven't seen the sky in quite a while, have you. I'm afraid that I can't force you telepathically. I get rather distracted, shall we say, and I would lose control. So I'm going to need a little more consent on your part."

Psychro tried to recall what little he knew of telepaths. One of his past lovers had tried to explain it to him, and he'd found it difficult to follow. It was easier to erect a mental block than it was to control. A mental block could prevent a person from doing specific things and could, if done right, be left indefinitely. A mental control was less effective, it required constant concentration to maintain, especially if it went against the grain of a person's natural inclinations.

"What is it going to take to tame you?" Myrik asked. "You've gotten a taste of what I can do to you, I shouldn't need to demonstrate. We both know you'll give in at the end."

"Go to hell," Psychro replied. It wasn't the wittiest remark he'd ever made, but he wasn't feeling terribly creative. The truth was he heard the truth in what Myrik said. There were a host of things that the Psion could do to him, and none of them were pleasant. Sooner or later he would probably have to concede defeat.

"I should admit, I'm not feeling patient tonight. I've been teased and tormented by your body since I first laid eyes on it, and I'm feeling quite desperate. So, here's the deal. You offered your ass in exchange for protecting Black Tiger's innocence earlier. She is in the next room, waiting. I will bring her in here, and I will control your body. You will violate her in any way I can think of. To make matters even worse for you, your mind will not see Black Tiger. You will imagine that it is Psikaris whom you are violating. Think about it, the guilt of raping your own sister, the sister whom you care about more than anyone in the world. And the best part is, I know that Black Tiger is fertile right now. Imagine her surprise when she finds that she is pregnant with your baby. And that's just the start of your torment."

Psychro wanted to plug his ears, blot out the sound of Myrik's voice. "Fine," he shouted, fighting back tears of frustration. "You win. But someday you'll pay for this. I will find a way to kill you, and when I do I will bring you back to life so I can kill you again and again. And when I get tired of killing you I will let every single person you've hurt have a chance to kill you. Only when they're done will I even consider letting you stay dead, you worthless piece of garbage."

Myrik smiled, pleased with the outburst and walked slowly over to where Psychro still stood. A chill ran through his head as the gap closed. "You reminded me of something I almost forgot. I've blocked your aggressive side. No matter how hard you try, you will not be able to cause me harm," he said, and Psychro felt the truth in his words. He tried to form a fist and slug him, but his body wouldn't co-operate.

The collar around his neck was removed, and Myrik's hands wrapped tightly around his back, pulling Psychro in for a lengthy kiss. It was disgusting, his lips tasted faintly of coffee and his stubble scratched at his chin. Myrik's tongue probed inside his mouth and he yearned to bite down as hard as he could.

"You're fighting it," Myrik teased, pulling back. "Good. Don't lose that passion, I love it." Psychro's vest hit the ground and practised fingers touched all over his chest. Psychro closed his eyes, willing the ordeal to be over with, but his oppressor forced them back open with a thought. Myrik resumed his kissing, lips and tongue travelling sensually down his throat. Then he seemed to reach a decision. "I've waited too long. My apologies, Psychro, I normally have more self-control than this."

Psychro gasped as he was stripped of the rest of his clothing, indecently exposed as he had only ever been with women and doctors. Myrik wasn't patient, Psychro could sense his urgency. He knew what that felt like, after going too long without a date, but he also knew how to control it. Warm lips touched him where he'd never expected another man's mouth to be, stroking and caressing him. His body reacted involuntarily, doing what genetics had instructed it to do. Myrik bit slightly and pulled on his penis, finding a new way to pull Psychro to the bed.

He was revolted, there was nothing even remotely appealing in what Myrik was doing, nor in Myrik's body as he finally let go and divested himself of his own clothes. While Psychro managed to keep his eyes looking straight forward, knowing that Myrik would just make him open them again if he closed them, lustily Myrik's eyes traversed Psychro's body, eyeing every inch of naked flesh, ignoring or revelling in the other's disgust. Finally he looked up again and gestured with his hand. Psychro knew what to do, he'd known it would come. Blessedly able to close his eyes without fear he bent over the side of the bed and waited for the invasion.

* * *

A jolt of fear shuddered through her. A pair of those damned gold covered guards had walked into the tunnels, asking where she was. Then she heard Myrik's name. The time had come, hadn't it. He'd changed his mind and decided that she would be punished after all. The guard who had been watching over herself and the Icewalker/Lion turned to call out to his colleagues.

Seeing the opportunity, Black Tiger ran. She didn't know where she was going, or how she was going to escape, she just knew that she didn't want to be in that foul creature's clutches. She rather enjoyed going through life without knowing what such violation felt like, thank you very much. Maybe, she thought suddenly, maybe she wouldn't go through life much longer at all. Maybe one of the guards would see a fleeing prisoner and shoot to kill. Her own guard didn't react quickly. She heard him cursing and saw an energy beam strike the rock next to her. Black Tiger took a turn in the tunnel, trying to remember the layout. She didn't want to get near the barracks, she needed to find an isolated place where she could hide. Where were the disused tunnels?

By now the other guards had to have been informed. Deep down she knew there had to be some kind of system in place. Some kind of contingency plan for a breakout. She skidded around a corner and came to a dead end. The sounds of footsteps were growing louder behind her. She would never reach another branch in time, she would have to fight and hope that someone was feeling a little trigger-happy. Nervously she crouched by the corner.

Two people, the uniforms obscuring race and gender, appeared from around the bend. Black Tiger pounced at the first one, a man probably from the Royal Moon based on the accent, grabbing at his weapon and wrenching it from his grasp. She brought the weapon to bear on the second one, who was a little quicker than their companion. Black Tiger felt a bolt of energy strike her in the chest, pain rippling from the spot like a stone skipping across a lake. Numbly the gun tumbled from her hands and she started to collapse. As the world began to darken around her she heard one of them say something about taking her to Myrik.

* * *

The sun was setting. Cameo felt the metaphor in his heart as he sat in a hotel room with his friends and a pile of documents in front of him. The time of the Moons of Purity was setting too, soon a new day of freedom for hybrids like himself would rise, just as surely as the sun would rise over the horizon again.

Snap Gap was there too, a ranking police officer who had been assigned to the missing persons division. Sure, the Graviton Moon prided itself on having a very low crime rate, but people always went missing. The long list of names confirmed what he had been suspecting, that the Moons of Purity had been in operation for a long time. They'd made their pitch to Snap Gap over two years ago, anyway. It wasn't a complete list, Cameo wondered if they would ever see one of those, but a list of people taken from this region of the Graviton Moon was information enough.

"All they ever gave me was a phone number. Eef a name on their list matched a call I got I was to call eet in. The number leads to an address, a library on the east side of town," Snap Gap said. "I was supposed to ask for Hive Five."

A library? That wasn't the kind of place Cameo was expecting. On the other hand, he doubted that any organization like that would give out their hideout's location. The library was likely a middleman, relaying information from there to the true source. And this Hive Five was probably only loosely affiliated with the Moons of Purity. But it was a valuable lead.

"I suggest that you make another call to Hive Five, then," Cameo said smoothly. "Nitro, Nuiane, and I will go to the library and see who answers the phone. I'm willing to bet they make another call after that to their real boss. Once that call is made, we'll swoop in and grab them."

"And what do you want me to do?" Mystan asked.

"You're going to stay here with Snap Gap and make sure he's not setting us up."

* * *

The library was in a quiet part of town, away from the bars and businesses. It was generally considered a residential neighbourhood, in fact, and was just a short walk away from one of the schools. The same school, though Nitro had no way of knowing it, that Snap Gap's son attended.

The three looked very out of place, he thought to himself. While there were a few people about at this hour, mostly Gravitons coming home from work or sneaking out for a quick pint, they all appeared to be mostly of Graviton descent. More than one person stopped and stared, causing him to wonder if said person was a member of the Moons of Purity.

You were on television too, he reminded himself. He was a minor celebrity now. The library itself was open for another hour, so they slipped in and spread out, looking among the racks of books. Cameo stationed himself near the front door, Nitro by the front desk, and Nuiane by an employees only area. He skimmed through the books, keeping one eye cocked towards the desk. "Moon Dust," "Path Into Darkness," "Signal In The Sky." So many stories, and none of them caught his fancy, especially since his real purpose was to find an enemy.

Cameo nodded when he saw everyone was in position and spoke quietly into a phone. Nitro cast a glance at the desk. A Graviton woman was staring blankly at the clock, waiting for closing time while she sipped at a bottle of water. If this was their target, she would be easy to take down. Large and possessing little muscle mass from what he could tell of her bare arms. Her fingers drummed slowly across the counter, an indicator that she'd been there a long time and would also be exhausted. Nitro had learned to pay attention to these small details, especially in a potential combatant. Cameo could afford to relax, this one wasn't getting past him.

The phone rang, causing the woman to jump. She answered on the third ring. "Hello? Yeah, just a second, I'll get her." The woman stood, casting a longing glance at the clock, and ducked into the employee area. Nuiane watched and, when the door closed, concentrated. Nitro had seen this happen before, it was impressive how easily she could manipulate her body. She could become a shadow herself, passing through the tiniest cracks. In this case she slipped under the door, a wave of darkness that wouldn't be detectable unless one was looking for it. She could, with some effort, transform a person the same way with her. He hadn't enjoyed the sensation, becoming lost in the infinite darkness, unable to feel anything.

The receptionist emerged and packed up her bags, settling in for the last moments of her work day. Nitro counted the agonizing minutes, pretending to read one of the books, his eyes staring over the top of the book at the distant doorway, and occasionally back at the counter. "Sir, we're closing soon if you want that book..." the receptionist started. A noise from the back room interrupted them, sounds of violence. His feet were moving even before his brain fully registered what was happening. Nuiane must have tried to apprehend Hive Five and was having difficulty. She wasn't a fighter, though he had taught her some basic self-defence.

Nitro burst through the employee's door, ignoring the receptionist's shouts that he couldn't go in, and saw Nuiane wrestling on the floor with a much larger woman. Hive Five, he assumed the Graviton with bright yellow hair, had pinned the Darkling and was trying to choke her. A solid blast of ice knocked her clear, and a second burst froze her solid. "Are you all right?" Nitro asked, offering his hand to Nuiane but never letting his eyes leave the Graviton.

"Yeah. She made a second call, just like you guys figured, reporting that Snap Gap had tossed another missing persons file. I tried to jump her when she hung up, but she's a lot more solid than she looks." Behind them Cameo was explaining who he was to the receptionist, assuring her that they were within their jurisdiction, but to feel free to call the police if it made her feel better.

He walked over to the frozen woman and leaned close, smelling the stench of rancid bacon and body sweat. "You're going to tell us everything about who you were just talking to and the Moons of Purity. It might just lighten your sentence."

* * *

Psychro wanted to remove the arm from around his waist but didn't dare. Myrik was contentedly asleep, warm body pressed against his own, and Psychro wanted him to stay that way, asleep he wasn't invading his rear. The experience ranked among the top five most humiliating moments in his life. All through the ordeal he tried to focus on the finer things in life. His family, his work, his friends, all those things he valued. He tried to conjure up pleasant memories and was annoyed that most of the ones he could come up with involved sex. Those inevitably reminded him what was going on behind him.

That first coupling had been horrible, he had thought, but a second had been threatened, just before Myrik went wherever he was going. Probably the palace, he thought guiltily. The guilt didn't help his emotional state. Why was his life going so poorly? The people around him were being hurt too often.

Or had it always been that way? Icilia, poor poor Icilia. Killed because he'd gotten her pregnant. Ellis, tortured to lure him out of hiding. Dalash who had been struck down by an assassin's bullet meant for him. Pekablu who had turned to alcohol and narcotics to console herself after he left her. The list went on and on, broken hearts and jilted lovers. Friendships ended and enemies made.

And now this. Myrik mumbled something in his sleep and his hand slipped lower, finally resting on Psychro's hip. Sleep would come eventually, he just feared what dreams would follow.

* * *

Black Tiger opened her eyes, expecting any number of hostile faces staring down at her. Instead she found Fantasy, stroking her head gently. She'd been dumped unceremoniously on a bed that smelled of lavender and chained by one wrist to it. Fantasy was likewise chained to a bed post, but she seemed calm and relaxed. Black Tiger supposed that the wrist was at least a little more comfortable than the neck.

"Good, you're awake," Fantasy sat up and moved into a cross-legged position. She was, Black Tiger realized awkwardly, naked except for a flimsy bathrobe. She had no problem with the female body, she just wasn't used to seeing so much of it. "Listen carefully, I don't know how much time Myrik will give us. One of your friends, Chedra, has the power to undo the mental block."

She listened intently as Fantasy explained the situation, from Myrik's influence to Chedra's abilities. "The time is coming soon. I think Myrik is going to leave soon, which means he won't be able to reenforce his blocks. Once hers breaks down, find out if she can do it for everyone else. One person with powers isn't going to cut it, but if all of us do... We outnumber the guards, but we're kept weak and powerless. I say it's time to turn the tables, especially if what I think is going down is happening."

"What do you mean?" Black Tiger asked. She didn't fully comprehend, but hoped that Chedra and maybe Merma would.

"All along they've wanted one thing. Access to the palace. I don't know why, but they do. From what Myrik's inferred it sounds like they're making their move, which means they'll be understaffed here. Even fewer guards around. It'll be perfect. When they get back, we'll have a nasty surprise for them. I just hope I get my hands on Myrik before anyone else does," Fantasy said, the venom in her voice telling Black Tiger that whatever Myrik had been about to put her through were nothing compared to what he'd done to this woman.

"Somehow I don't think you're the only one," she said faintly. "I think there's a long line for that privilege." They spent the rest of the night trading as much information about the place as they could think of, before sleep finally consumed them. Side by side they slept, and dreamed of better times.

* * *

It was taking too long. Hive Five was too stubborn, too resistant to his interrogation techniques. He was one step away from trying things that he'd always deemed too violent, because he always hoped that the prisoner would break. That and there was always the distinct possibility that she really didn't know very much. He and Nitro were busily dealing with her at a local precinct, trying to extract as much information as they could. She'd given vague answers, nothing that they could really use. A quick call to Mystan had both the Psion and Snap Gap looking in to see where the phone call had been made to.

"What we need is a telepath," he muttered, regretting the words instantly. He saw the snide remark on Nitro's face, though thankfully he didn't verbalize it. "How long do you think it would take to find one?"

"Short taking him off this moon, who knows? This is hardly the moon for them. Still, there's bound to be a couple in the city. We could check the temple of Cyris in the morning, most Psions worship him."

"I guess it's worth a try. I just don't like the idea of leaving it overnight. There's another option. It's not great, but it might work. Get Mystan down here."

* * *

Crackle stared out the window, watching the freighter take off. A shipment of machine parts to the Royal Moon; the perfect cover for the first wave. Drell was on that ship, leading that detachment, while Raven and Myrik would leave at first light on a second ship. Frostarn would be pushed to handle any issues that came up with the prisoners, but he suspected she didn't really mind it.

Things were moving quicker than he'd have liked. He'd known that some day the authorities would come sniffing, he just hadn't expected it so soon. He'd imagined retiring with his cache of wealth on some remote planet and enjoying the fruits of his labours. In a day he would find out how soon that dream was to pass.

What no one else knew of where the secret preparations he was undertaking. He had his money stashed aboard a one man ship hidden above his office. The building itself was lined with explosives, and below as well. Not a shred of evidence would be found of him or his money. Of course, it would be nice to stockpile a little more.

* * *

"You're serious," Mystan said. It was a phrasing that suggested that Cameo was insane for even considering the option. Mystan wasn't even a hundred percent sure it would work. He knew of Cameo's abilities, from his father's Solarian side, a species that no one knew much about. In fact, when Mystan thought about it, the only notation about them in the file the High Priests had on them was that one of them had sired Cameo.

The abilities in question had long been coveted by the Psion race. Cameo could duplicate the powers of anyone he touched. Though the copy wasn't as strong as the original, the possibilities were endless. A Psion with an outstanding skill set could augment their power with those of another. But, as yet, the secrets to his powers were locked away inside Cameo's body, and now he wanted to use those powers to borrow Mystan's.

The principle was sound, if a long shot. The High Priests had blocked his powers, not removed them. In theory Cameo should be able to copy them. There were flaws in this logic, though. "My specialty was telekinesis, not telepathy. And you'll need a lot of coaching. If she's got even the slightest resistence, it probably won't work," he cautioned, feeling the start of what could only be described as jealousy. A sense of 'if I can't use my powers, why should you' that he couldn't say he'd ever felt before.

"Can it be done?" Cameo asked simply, looking over at the clock. It was getting close to midnight, and the sooner they had answers, the better.

"Quite likely. I've trained students before. This will be a little more difficult, but I suspect, with my guidance, we should be able to do it."

Mystan pulled two chairs over to in front of Hive Five's cell. Nitro was standing further back, down the hall, talking with one of the officers while Nuiane napped on a bench. Whatever the officer said must have been amusing as Nitro began laughing. That was inconsequential at the moment. He settled on to a chair and held out his hand.

"Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. You probably won't even feel anything," Cameo explained as he too sat down. The contact was brief, nothing more than a handshake, and Cameo was quite right. There was no sensation at all out of the ordinary. He almost questioned whether it had worked, but Cameo seemed satisfied. "Now what?"

He considered for a moment. Every student was different, and by now they would have been given instructions on the principles of clearing their minds. Still, there were the basics that could be taught in a pinch. "I want you to focus on her," his voice was strong but quiet, the purpose being to calm and soothe through his own hypnotic voice. It was something that other races didn't understand. Hypnotism depended on voice as well as natural power. The strongest hypnotist would struggle if their voice didn't sound sincere. "Many find it easiest to stare at her brain, but it's not necessary. Now, breathe slowly, long deep breaths. Imagine yourself feeling lighter, feel the gravity melting away from you, become lighter than the air itself."

"It's working!" Cameo gasped, for which Mystan was grateful. This was by far the easiest method. There were some that would require some controversy. He'd heard of telepaths breaking free through extreme physical trauma, for example, and that was very risky.

"Don't talk, just let your mind go free. Continue staring at her brain, travel towards her. Reach out your hand and touch her head." Cameo's corporeal hand raised, just as it often did for initiates. It was difficult to fully separate mind from body, which was a blessing. It meant that it was easier to recall the spirit. That would be a complete disaster, if Cameo couldn't find his way back to his own body.

He heard a gasp and assumed that he was in. This was going to be the hardest part. The brain had great difficulty comprehending the psychic plane. It often interpreted signals in ways that made it easier for it to accept. Mystan had heard cases where the brain viewed telepathy as a large house, with doors leading into various thought centres of the other's brain. Others saw windows, or holes. It varied. "Tell me what you see," he said calmly, trying not to give a hint of his nerves.

"I see purples and reds swirling around me. There's a footpath hanging over nothing. Whoa! I almost slipped. What would happen if I fell?"

"Depending on your will, nothing. Or your brain could go into shock and you would die. If you start to fall, tell yourself there's another path underneath, or convince yourself you have wings. Something. Now, keep describing as you walk the path."

Cameo's vacant eyes flitted back and forth, doubtless scanning around. Mystan could hear Nitro snort something about boosting Cameo's confidence. That seldom worked. What the mind wanted to believe it would believe. "There's what looks like a giant ball of yarn ahead, only it's got about a thousand strings hanging from it. The path goes around it."

Ah. The ball of yarn. His most recent apprentice had seen it this way at first. It was too primitive a means, though, and she'd adapted to something more logical. Now that Cameo was in, he would need to find the information he needed. "I'm not sure if this will work for you or not. After I give my instructions, I want you to move to the string that feels right. You'll understand, I hope, when it happens. I should warn you that it might be barely perceptible. Touching a string should provide you a glimpse at Hive Five's memories. Now, ask the ball of yarn about the Moons of Purity." Mystan said. It was a long shot, and some apprentices never felt the subtle tug.

"Tell me about the Moons of Purity," Cameo said loudly. Mystan risked a glance at Hive Five. She'd been sedated to prevent her from actively trying to hinder the process. Nuiane stirred, but didn't wake either. "Okay, problem. There are two."

Two? That was curious. "Try and remember where one is, and then touch the other."

Another gasp, presumably as the flood of memories washed over him. An apprentice would be taught how to fast forward and rewind memories, observe details, and extrapolate from one to the next. There was no time to go through that process here. "She's talking to someone on the phone. Someone named Drell. They're talking about Mind Grind's disappearance." Mystan didn't bother looking to see if Nitro was taking notes, nor whether the Graviton officer was doing a quick check through his computer. Icewalkers were dependable to know their duty, if nothing else. "I see them talking about other people, so many names. Holy crap are there a lot of names. She must be calling them about thirty or forty times. It's over. How do I check that other thread?"

"Your hand is still touching the thread, pull it away and you should let go," Mystan said. It wasn't as simple as that, but it usually worked. It was tiring, because he would usually be inside the mind with the initiate.

"Okay, and I'm pretty sure it was this one. No, I'm positive it was... Oh god!"

"Did he see her naked?" Nitro snickered quietly. Mystan glowered, but was sure that Cameo hadn't heard it.

"It's her. She's leaving the library and she's seeing an abduction. There's a Darkling, a Psion and a Graviton there. The victim is running to her for help, he's bleeding from his arm. The Darkling is holding a knife and the Graviton is shouting at him. She's tackled the hybrid. The Psion thanks her for her help. That's Drell, the name seems to fit to him, I think that's the guy in the picture you have. The Darkling is too far away, but it's probably the same one. Same black hair. Oh, now they're all coming up to her. Yeah, he's Drell. He's introduced himself as being a member of the Moons of Purity. I think he read her mind. She's agreeing to help them however she can, as the Darkling drags the hybrid away. He's giving her a phone number. They're arranging the system they have, forwarding tips from the police. I don't think she knows where their base is, but she's definitely a big part of the group. She's walking home now, happy. I don't get it. It's over. I'm back at the ball of yarn."

"Are there any other tuggings?" Mystan asked. He was sure there wouldn't be, not at this stage, but it didn't hurt to check. When Cameo said no, Mystan resumed. "Okay. Getting back to your body is going to be harder. Walk back down the path. When you reach where you came in, let me know."

"Okay. I'm there. There's a black hole here. Do I go through it?" Cameo asked.

"Yes. It should take you back outside her body. When you see your body, try getting into the exact same position it's in." He heard Cameo grunt that he was in place. "Now it's easy. Open your eyes."

"They are open."

"Open them. Close them and then open them if it makes you feel better. Trust me." Cameo jerked forward, nearly toppling to the floor. He stood up and looked around.

"Nothing personal, Mystan, but I don't think I'd like to do that again. I'll leave that to the pros. Come on. Let's sort out what we've learned."

* * *

While it was night for Mystan, it was late morning in the Psion capital. In the uppermost room of the holiest of temples, seat of power for the High Priests, the eldest of the council sat in meditation. Toran had read Mystan's report, had done a search through their computer system for any record of Drell. From birth all Psions were examined by the elders, chiefly to prevent powers from manifesting until the child was old enough to control them. Afterwards they would be trained through the schools, with the most promising being taken to one of the temples.

Drell had been a borderline case, according to the file. He had the discipline and mentality to use his powers, but they had been deemed not strong enough to merit higher learning. Apparently their assessment had been a mistake. What had happened on the Vast Belly suggested a powerful telepath, and Drell's telepathic centre was considerably weak. Or had that been done by another?

A thorough search of records showed that he had worked in a restaurant for a time, had married and then lost his wife in a tragic murder four years ago. The culprit had been an Icewalker/Darkling hybrid who had subsequently fled the moon. There was still, Toran noted, a pending warrant for his arrest. At least that accounted for some of Drell's hatred of hybrids, he thought. He enjoyed when pieces fell into place.

Two years after the murder he had quit his job and moved off the Psion Moon on a ship headed for the Graviton Moon. He had made subsequent returns but, curiously, never stayed very long. Obtaining passenger logs for those trips, to see if there was anyone else making the same trips, would take a long time, digging through old files and then cross referencing, so he had passed the task on to an acolyte. He had more important things to do.

* * *

It was tempting, Myrik thought, opening his eyes and feeling the familiar stirring between his legs. Psychro had rolled to face him in his sleep, his hair matted and spread about the pillow. That marvellous chest was just crying out to be touched. And then there was the penis. That elegant piece of flesh that had captivated him the night before. Myrik started to reach for it, but stopped. No. Not yet. He didn't know how long it would take to get to the Royal Moon, complete their task and get back, but when they did he would have Psychro begging him to make love to him.

The plan was so diabolical in its simplicity. He would show Psychro his sister, and inform him that Psychro would have to give Myrik the best sex of his life or Psikaris would die. No, wait. Even better. Psikaris was pregnant with twins. Myrik would cut the children from her first, and if Psychro still failed, only then would Psikaris die.

His ship was scheduled to leave in another two hours, he saw from the clock. Perhaps he could indulge his lust just a little. He leaned forward and licked Psychro's bicep, enjoying the sweet taste of his sweat. The room was at a comfort level for an Psion, not a half Icewalker. The hybrid jumped and pulled his arm back, a delightful look of revulsion in his face. "Remember our agreement," Myrik whispered, pulling the arm back into place and planting soft but demanding kisses along the muscled limb until he reached the callused hands. Such practised hands. They had caressed Fantasy so expertly, and he couldn't wait for them to touch him the same way. Soon, very soon. He dragged his mouth back up to Psychro's and kissed him long and hard. "Sadly, I have to go. We'll finish this when I get back. The guards will see you back to your cell."

Myrik stood and got dressed. Then he summoned a squad of guards. There were prisoners to shuffle around. Psychro to return to his special cell, Fantasy to her place, and Black Tiger back to the barracks. Small details, and the guards readily obeyed him. Stories had spread that he'd abused more than one guard for failing to listen, they weren't true as Crackle would have a fit, but he liked to perpetuate them.

With everyone back where they belonged, a rendezvoused with Raven and the rest of their group at the warehouse where their ship was waiting. He took one last look at the building as they took off, excitement written all over his face. Very soon, he thought.

* * *

Was it morning already? Cameo groaned softly and stared out the window. The sun was up, and even the curtains couldn't blot out the light completely. Mornings were horrible. Back on the Ice Moon they lived in caves and caverns with very little natural light. Ever since he'd taken on the posting at the palace he'd been finding sleeping awkward, to the point that he had installed heavy black curtains over the bedroom window. Psikaris was the same way, he knew, and just the thought of her made him wish in part that he was back home with her.

But his place was here, for now. The Graviton Moon wasn't the most pleasant of places to be, the extra gravity wore on one if they stayed too long, but the people were friendly and the food was delicious, if not necessarily nutritious. Once the case was over he could go back home, relax in the comforting love of his family and pick up where he'd left off with his work.

The Graviton government, which meant the vaguely organized group that met at one of the many local watering holes, had graciously provided the quartet with a pair of spacious rooms in what the hotel called their outsider rooms. Unlike the rooms in the rest of the hotel, and indeed the furniture found all over the city, the accommodations weren't designed to hold Gravitons. Mystan, his room mate, was already up, going through some transmission he'd received, doubtless from his home moon.

A door joining the two suites opened wide, revealing Nitro and Nuiane. They'd gone and gotten breakfast for the group to share, even managing to find something not entirely greasy for Mystan to enjoy. "So what's on the agenda today," Nitro asked, picking up some toast and spreading on bacon flavoured jam.

"Well, first things first. I spoke to the High Priests and found out a little information on Drell," Mystan said, vaguely indicating the computer still in his lap. He relayed what little Toran had provided, along with the elder's assurance to pass on more when he knew. "Backed on that and what we already know, I'm willing to wager that the Moons of Purity are based here on this moon."

"I agree. It's possible they've got similar arrangements with police on other moons, but I think Hive Five's status makes it more likely. The Graviton Moon also has the second largest numbers of suspected abductions. So we stay here. But we don't want to just sit around," Cameo said. He paced around a little. He wasn't a detective, this wasn't his specialty, he was much more used to ship to ship combat. The enemies were obvious. Even the politicking of the palace was easy. Everyone had their motivations, and few really backed Luna. Pretenders were easy to spot.

A silence held for about a minute. "We should heavily block traffic to and from the moon," Nitro said. "If we can contain the group to one moon, it might make them easier to find."

"While we're at it, why don't we check local directories for Drell?" Nuiane asked, casually picking at a blob of butter that had landed on her knee.

"Mystan and I will hit the space port, then. We've both seen Drell now in memories, we might be able to pick him out of a crowd. Nitro, why don't you and Nuiane visit the precinct and see about looking through directories." When they were all in agreement, they left the suites, each heading on their respective errands.

* * *

Unaware that he was being searched for, Drell casually approached the palace, flanked by a pair of Royals. The palace was closed to visitors for the day, but he didn't figure that would be a problem. One of the men standing at the front door was an ally of the Moons of Purity. He had cunningly arranged to be present when Drell and his friends arrived to review phony paperwork. When things went down he would doubtless find the heat turned up on him. He was expendable, and could be disposed of if the need arose. Much like those two Psion idiots who had called in and reported a failure. They'd caught their target, but they'd been painfully obvious in their excavation. Crackle had financed a hit man to eliminate the embarrassments.

It was a shame. He personally felt that Psions were the ideal candidates for this work, they were ruthless and had a natural superiority complex. All one had to do was get past the fervour for the god and it was easy.

The doorman looked over his credentials and waved him through. They journeyed further through the halls. One of the Royals slipped off, changing hastily in a cupboard into a servant's disguise, while the other followed him to a library near the throne room and he pretended to be copying some text for further research. His people were in position, a psychic message to each assured him. More importantly, however, was Luna being in position. She was in her throne room having a lengthy conversation with two of her advisors, unaware that one was a traitor. By the time she found out, it would be too late. Now all he needed was to wait for Myrik's signal.

* * *

"Little miss 'Favoured' is back, is she?" Black Tiger's eyes were wide at the accusation from the Darkling/Psion. A guard had brought her back, just as the first rotation was about to go out. There was still a scrap of food on the table, though even she watched a Lion/Graviton snagged it. The Darkling/Psion in question, named Nysar if she remembered the brief introduction, walked forward, jabbing a finger at her.

Merma was at her side instantly. "You think being taken by Myrik is a good thing?" she snapped. "I don't see any injuries on her, but you know better than that. Come on."

That seemed to placate Nysar a bit. Which was just as well. Black Tiger needed to tell everyone what Fantasy had said, and she was nervous enough as it was. There were no guards inside the barracks, they either didn't think they needed to or were confident enough in their abilities that they didn't care. "Actually. I need to talk to everyone." Her voice was quiet, and she could tell that Merma had barely heard her.

"You sure? Okay then. Listen up everyone, gather round," Merma called. They came in clumps, about twenty in all. Once they were all in place, Merma waved them to silence.

Black Tiger was pleased to see that Chedra was among them, as she would be a chief part of the process. Hesitantly, and with a little prodding from the older woman, she began. "A chance for escape is coming. Myrik has made a mistake. There's a Psion/Tiger woman he's kept prisoner the last two months named Fantasy." A murmur went around the room, the implications heavy. Anyone trapped in a room with that monster, even for a day, would have endured torments unspeakable, so two months was beyond that.

However one faint voice spoke up, a Psion/Royal who was near death from the radiation poisoning. "Fantasy? She still lives?"

"Yes. And she's been biding her time, learning everything she can," Black Tiger said, slowly telling them everything that the two women had discussed during their time in Drell's room. The story unfolded, Black Tiger's confidence growing as she spoke, and all eyes turned to Chedra as her part in the plan was discussed.

"That makes sense," Chedra said, closing her eyes and concentrating. "Yes. The barrier feels weak. It's like a thing just out of reach. I think I can do it." Life returned to Chedra, the first glimpses of hope. All around Black Tiger could see the same emotion filling the others.

But Nysar wasn't convinced. "What if this is a trick? What if Fantasy or even Black Tiger have betrayed us for her own neck? What would any of us do to save our own skins, would we lead to the death of others? Maybe she's been sent to find out who the ringleaders in the barracks are. Maybe Myrik is looking for an excuse to punish us."

The words caused a momentary silence, ended by a slap across her face. Black Tiger snarled, fighting to salvage what had been broken of her spirit. Whether she meant to or not, Nysar had fanned the flame of that spirit, spurring her to attack. "Are you calling me a traitor?" she snapped, daring the woman to do it again.

"Maybe not intentionally," Nysar said, recoiling and backing up into another hybrid. Black Tiger could see the Darkling/Psion rethinking her strategy and picking her next words carefully. "Myrik likes his games. How do we know this isn't one of them?"

"Who cares if it is?" Chedra said, coming to stand next to Black Tiger and Merma. "I've had it with being pushed around by these people. If I'm going to die, I'm dying on my feet. I know a lot about Lunataks and Thunderians, neither back down, and I'm not taking it anymore. I think I can break my mental block, and then I can help the half Psions with theirs."

"Right. And then we'll take the guards by surprise. We'll have to work quickly once we start the breakout, or they'll send everyone they've got at us. We'll make our move during the shift rotation so we can maximize our numbers," Merma added, patting Black Tiger's shoulder.

"Which means hitting the men's barracks as soon as we can to double them. Okay then, what the hell, let's give it a shot," Nysar said as Chedra went to work.

* * *

Psikaris walked over to her dresser feeling very lonely. Cameo was off doing his important detective job, and she was stuck at home, unable to continue her engineering work. It was too dangerous 'in her condition'. Her doctor insisted that she take things easy, now that the baby was less than four months away, but it aggravated her not being allowed to get quite as hands on. Not that the baby was making life easy for her. While she had yet to be sick, she did feel her stomach churning constantly, and she was admittedly getting tired more easily.

At least if Cameo were around she would feel more free to wander outside. It was promising to be a beautiful day. She'd even opened the bedroom curtains to let in light and gazed in wonder over the city. There was a park nearby that she had more than once stopped in to read. The security guards assigned to her wouldn't be up to such a walk, she suspected. Pity on them, she chuckled.

She poured herself a cup of tea, not her usual drink but the doctor had recommended it, and settled on the couch to give the news a quick scan. There wasn't much of interest going on, but it killed a few minutes. After a while she decided to have a nice long bath, not knowing what was happening just outside.

* * *

Watching through binoculars, Myrik watched. She wasn't nearly as attractive as her brother, he mused, but he could see the family resemblance. These members of House Myntaello produced fine looking specimen. Cameo wasn't home, Raven's infrared vision confirmed it. There were, however, four people stationed outside the door to the apartment, and another three circling the perimeter of the building. They wouldn't be much of an immediate threat, but did need to be taken care of before the action started inside. One person, at least, would need to sound the alarm to help Drell's group.

He would lead the first group, disguised as men delivering a piece of furniture to one of Psikaris' neighbours. Raven would be in the second. They would dispatch the guards on the ground and keep watch for reenforcements. A quick getaway was critical, especially when it came time to get off the moon. Once the attack began there would be a finite amount of time before the space port closed in order to catch them. But then, if Luna was dead, there might be enough chaos to escape. "All right," he said to the trio with him, "let's move in."

* * *

Cameo walked through the crowd. Mostly Gravitons were bustling around, though a smattering of other races walked about. A quartet of Mutants from Plundarr were bartering with an Icewalker, while a human, probably an Evil Chaser from the uniform, was speaking with a Graviton and taking notes. His eyes darted every time he saw a Psion face, but it was never Drell. One time, to his annoyance, it had been Mystan.

Even with Luna's backing, the port's master was incredibly leery of shutting down space travel more than he was. People complained loudly as it was, and he was the one who had to deal with the complaints. It was incredibly frustrating. Didn't he realize the scope of what was going on? Lunataks, honest citizens, were vanishing from the streets. Possibly even coming through this very port.

"Maybe that's the real reason," a voice deep down suggested, as he neared a Psion vessel. He stopped mid stride, causing a Graviton to nearly collide with him. The gentleman uttered a vulgar curse and continued on his way. It made sense. An organization like the Moons of Purity would need people in high places. A space port was the perfect example. Who better to help smuggle living beings on to a moon than the port master? They had an officer of the law on payroll, why not? But if that was indeed the case, then how would he prove it, or was he jumping at shadows and seeing conspirators around every corner?

He continued over to the Psion ship, a small craft that looked to belong to a wealthy family on a vacation. He took a quick look at them, and was disappointed to see that none of them were Drell. Still, he produced a rough drawing that had been done of the man and showed it to the family. "Excuse me, we're looking for this man, have you seen him?" he asked.

"No, can't say as I have, I'm afraid," the patriarch of the group said, taking a long look. They passed the picture around and each had the same basic response.

"Thank you anyway. Enjoy your time here." Cameo slipped back into the crowd. A Psion ship would have been too obvious anyway. These people were smart, so it was probably Graviton ships they were using.

A fuel truck drove by, and a team of paramedics headed in the opposite direction at a leisurely pace. It was beginning to look like a lost cause, he thought. With any luck Nitro and Nuiane were having an easier time of things. He saw a Psion running towards him and realized with a start that it was Mystan, concern on his face. "I just got word from the Royal Moon. One of the port masters in the capital saw Drell's name on a crew manifest. The ship landed very early this morning. He didn't think anything of it until we sent the word to all the ports."

"Damn," Cameo said. At least that explained why he wasn't finding Drell here. "We need to contain him to the moon."

"Already done. I just hope we're not too late."

* * *

"Yeah, I got a desk to deliver to apartment 708," Myrik said, employing just a little telepathy on the armed Icewalker at the entrance to the complex. It was a sudden thought that there could be additional officers in the rooms around Psikaris and Cameo. It was the kind of thing he would do if he were in command. Luckily there didn't seem to be.

"Go on through," he replied bored. The team of four carted the large boxes to the elevator. A Darkling named Dusk squinted at a camera on the ceiling, placing a tiny speck of darkness over it to shield their movements. Certain that the guard wasn't paying attention, Myrik led the group to the stairwell and raced up the stairs. The boxes didn't contain desk pieces, but energy weapons. They were light, and they made good time.

"We've got two on either side of the hall," Dusk said softly, peering through the door to the seventh floor with her goggles. "One Icewalker, two I'd bet are Royals, and one Graviton. The Royals are on the right hand side."

That was perfect. A Darkling among them might notice them hiding in the stairwell. When the fight broke out it was safe to make a few assumptions. The Icewalker would be the most dangerous if they got to close quarters, while the Royals were more likely to be marksmen. It was a generalization, but not a guarantee. The Graviton was a bit of a wild card, as they tended to be slower but were strong. "We do this quick, understand? You two walk in the front." His own pair of Royals nodded. "Memorize where the enemy is. I'll cough and we count to three. Dusk will fill the hall with darkness, I'll take care of the Graviton. He'll have the easiest mind to control, and I'll get him to take out the Icewalker. Easy enough? If any of you fail, I'll turn you over to Frostarn for punishment."

They wouldn't fail. They couldn't fail. Indeed, if it wasn't for the desire that word get to the palace of the assault he was confident he could do this on his own. The look on Psychro's face when he saw that Myrik had Psikaris would be priceless. He would fall to his knees and start to beg. Psychro would be willing to do anything, no matter how demeaning. And since he was already kneeling he would feel those callused hands on his thighs, his lips surrounding his... "Sir?" Dusk interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. He was tempted to lash out, but he needed to focus if his dreams were to come true.

"We're ready, then. Let's go."

* * *

Time was running out. The first rotation was almost finished and would be escorted back to the barracks. Black Tiger felt Chedra's hand on her shoulder as she, along with a Psion/Monkian, worked furiously at her mental block. She didn't know how useful her little dimming of the lights would be, but she was willing to try. It took them a long minute, hammering and chipping at the psychic wall. When it dropped she felt the faintest of pin pricks in her head.

It looked like exhausting work, Chedra's eyes already spoke keenly of fatigue, but there was determination there too. When the fighting started, she would be at the front fighting with all her reserves. Black Tiger hoped they all could find that burst of adrenaline, and that it would be enough.

The key, Merma had emphasized, was getting their hands on the weapons. The guards out in the mines had to wear the gold uniforms to protect them from the radiation, but the same uniforms also prevented most of them from using their innate abilities, especially the Icewalkers and Darklings. Black Tiger had never killed another Lunatak, but her time working on the Dark Moon had led to her killing small creatures.

That had led to a debate. Did they kill the guards or incapacitate. By and large they agreed that they all deserved death for the torments they'd been through, but at least a few needed to be left alive to publicly pay the price. That and to input the access codes to get the elevator working, Merma had pointed out. About the only consensus was that the upper echelon needed to suffer before they were killed, especially Myrik and Frostarn.

* * *

The guards looked up as the quartet entered the hall, each carrying boxes. They didn't realize that behind those boxes were energy weapons. Only the Icewalker paid them much heed after the initial look, though. Myrik knew he would be the threat, he was too alert and suspicious. That was precisely why he was glad he would be handling him. His mind sought the Graviton's, while maintaining an easy gait.

There he was. As expected it was largely empty. The man was thinking too much about what he was going to have for lunch, and complaining that the restaurant had run out of gravy at breakfast, which led back to thoughts of lunch. Myrik had him bring his weapon up subtly, as though checking the settings, pointing it straight at his Icewalker friend. It was beautiful how natural he made the movement. Even if one of the others noticed, they would think the Graviton too stupid to realize what he was doing.

Myrik coughed and, three seconds later the hall was plunged into darkness and filled with the sounds of laser fire. A blast of return fire, curse those Royals, whizzed past. "Tanth... Duck now," Dusk said, almost slipping up and calling one of her compatriots by name. He couldn't see her but knew what was happening. Her infrared vision allowed her to pierce her own darkness. A gurgle led to a 'thud' before the light returned. All that was left was the portly Graviton, whose mind Myrik still held. He had the man turn his weapon on himself, ending his rather pathetic life.

"Dusk, any activity in any of the rooms?" the Psion asked, taking quick stock of the situation. One of the Royals had a thick energy burn on his leg and was walking with a noticeable limp. Otherwise his people seemed unharmed. They needed word to get out, but it needed to be under their terms.

"It doesn't look like it. I don't think Psikaris even heard it."

"Let's make sure someone hears the abduction, then. The door, gentlemen." Myrik watched the Royal pair walk to the door, room 709 and ram their shoulders into it. After two quick strikes the door splintered open and they stormed inside.

He heard the sounds of splashing and grinned. Psikaris knew they were there now, she couldn't help but hear. She emerged from the bathroom, wearing only a hastily thrown on towel, and carrying a towel rack. "Psikaris, dear. Surrender yourself quietly. We only want to bring you to Psychro," he said. The Royals had their weapons pointed at her, while Dusk was still out in the hall keeping watch.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

"We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other," a shiver went up his spine thinking how much he was going to get to know her brother instead. "Come along. You don't want us hurting your children."

"You're making a big mistake. I'm bonded to Cameo. He'll find you and..." the towel rack rose threateningly as he stepped closer to her. He was probably block his people from shooting, but that was a good thing. He didn't need his prize harmed yet.

"He may find us. But will it be too late for you. I'm getting tired of this. Dusk has anyone called the police yet?"

"I don't think so," came the reply from the hall.

"Scream for me, Psikaris. Call for help." Myrik's mental influence pushed its way in and she screamed loudly. A second piercing cry and Dusk told him that there was definite activity in the next apartment. "Good night, Psikaris." A further push and her brain decided that she was sleeping. He caught her just before she hit the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

Purification by Jonathan Prideaux  
Chapter 5

Drell heard the mental signal from Myrik. It meant that Psikaris had been taken captive and that someone had managed to call for help. If things went right, attention would be diverted from the palace and focussed on rescuing her.

They would wait exactly five minutes, then it would be time to move into action, and he relayed the message on to his own people. The death of Luna, queen of the Lunataks, would signal an end to order, and a return to power for a group like the Moons of Purity. He and his companion dropped the book they were studying, the need for pretense over, and ran for the throne room.

* * *

Luna listened with a degree of boredom as two of her advisors spoke. The Darkling named Nightsong was responsible for the royal treasury, which brought her in constant conflict with Totla, a Royal Lunatak who was in charge of the public morale. Often the latter seemed to think that throwing money on a lavish production or new buildings would help with his task. Nightsong disagreed, naturally, and preached fiscal responsibility.

At present they were arguing in her throne room over a statue that Totla wanted built to honour Luna. It was tempting, she did like the thought of a massive statue of herself, but the budget was running a little tight what with the financing of the Third Earth mission. Goods were starting to come in, but it wasn't much yet.

As they bantered she flipped through the sketches Totla had provided. Some looked quite good. Many of them featured Amok, though some didn't. Most were very generic poses, though there was one of her gesturing with her riding crop that she was fond of, such a pose was begging to have things draped over the outstretched arm.

The discussion was interrupted by the frantic arrival of a soldier. "Your majesty! We just received a transmission from our security forces. Commander Cameo's home has been attacked, none of our people are answering our calls."

"It must be the Moons of Purity. Get more soldiers there now, and someone contact Cameo on the Graviton Moon, he needs to know," she cursed. The soldier saluted and ran out, leaving the three alone again. "They're hitting too close to home now." There was no secret that Cameo was one of her favourites. He had put his life on the line for her, earning him the promotion, and wasn't afraid to give his opinion. Loyal and honest were two traits that she found difficult to find in any of these lackeys and sycophants.

"I'm just glad they're there and not here," Totla said, watching the soldier run off.

Luna's eyebrow raised. "What a curious thing to say. What do you mean?" There was a faint pinprick at the back of her neck, a niggling sense that there was something bigger going on. Amok picked up on it and lumbered over to stand protectively in front of the throne.

"I just mean that I feel safer... knowing that they're attacking over there. It means they aren't here, right?" Totla backed up a pace, clearly nervous.

Nightsong drew her sidewinder, and aimed it at the royal officer. "He's lying. His heart rate just spiked."

"Guards!" Luna's piercing shriek filled the air. She knew immediately what that meant: an attack was coming. Amok scooped her up and stared around the room, even as her personal guard entered the room from behind her. Totla fell to the ground, tackled by one of her men. And was dragged off to the side.

* * *

"Alright, maggots. Rotation two in position!" a gold suited guard called loudly. Black Tiger looked at the others, it was time. The half Psions had finished their labour and barely had had a chance to sit for a moment before that door had opened. A dozen guards watched the forty beaten and broken slaves. The odds were good, but some of them would die, she knew. How many had she really befriended? Just Merma and Chedra, really. She knew a few others by name, and more she recognized.

A picture of her father formed momentarily. Proud Captain Stalker. How would he react to all of this? He was very open minded and judged people individually on their merits. His last letter had mentioned a Thunderian/Lunatak hybrid named Knave who he hoped would unite the two cultures. That's the way it should be, she thought. Her father's letter had even jokingly pointed out that the man was single, though there was very little seriousness about it. She smiled faintly. Memories of her family often made her happy, today they reminded her of what was at stake. If things went badly she would never see any of them again. Her mother, father, aunts and uncles. There was something worth fighting for.

Revenge? Yes, there was that too. All those vile creatures that called themselves Lunataks. She might die today, but she vowed to take some of them with her.

* * *

Time seemed to slow, and Luna locked her eyes with the door. Beneath her hands she could feel Amok's muscles tensing, coiling. Whenever the attack came there would be no surprising her beast. He would either fight to the death or carry her to safety. The twin doors that had been there for generations flew open, as though propelled by strong winds. Amok moved out of the way of the first, and batted the second aside. Six people of varying races stood in the doorway, a Psion man who looked to be their leader seemed to be taking stock of the situation, and she could hardly blame him. He had probably expected only Luna and Nightsong in the room.

It was idiotic, of course. One didn't stay queen very long if they didn't have bodyguards nearby. But it also suited her purpose to keep their location a secret, it made their appearance even more effective.

Were she spiritual Luna might have had her life flash before her eyes at the realization of how close she had come to death. If not for the verbal blunder of Totla the ambush could have been successful. One of the doors, if she were inclined to look, was resting overtop the toppled throne.

Finally the Psion decided that he'd been quiet for too long. "Queen Luna. I, Drell of the Moons of Purity, demand that you give up the throne," he announced. He didn't move from the doorway. He was doubtless trying to think of an escape route without being shot at. There wouldn't be one. If she could stall him a little longer, more of her soldiers would arrive from behind, effectively trapping them.

"And why would I do that?" she asked. While she talked she tried to gauge how much of a zealot he was. Would he sacrifice himself for whatever perceived cause he had? There were six of them, and any one of them might have the lack of sense necessary to result in all their deaths.

"Because we have deemed you a weak ruler. You consort with half bred freaks. Genetic mistakes that weaken the blood of the empire. We Lunataks are strong, but you would have us dilute our strength through interbreeding. Only through purity can we survive. With us in command we will..." Drell began before she gestured him silent with a wave of her riding crop. She'd had enough blathering for one day already.

"And you think I'm just going to step aside because you say so? You don't know me very well. You think I'm weak? Maybe I am, physically, but even I know a losing situation when I see it. Surrender now, or else." She saw more soldiers filing in behind Drell and his comrades. Now was the moment of truth. If he was going to go out in a blaze of glory it would be now or never.

* * *

The guards were completely surprised by the sudden rush. Merma led the charge, spraying a fine stream of water in one man's face and wrested his gun away from him. Nineteen other women moved at the same time, employing their admittedly weak powers.

Flashes of light, streams of mist, miniature balls of fire, and more. Black Tiger knew her powers weren't refined enough for such situations, but she had been trained well. She knew where all the tender areas on Lunataks were, and that with the right force one could cripple, incapacitate or even kill.

She lunged at the nearest guard, driving her fist into the woman's neck. Another prisoner, Nysar she noticed when some measure of surprise, joined in, taking the gun from the guard. The woman was struggling to breathe, clutching at her throat, and Black Tiger found herself gawking. Had she actually done that? It had been so simple, come so naturally. "Pay attention girl!" Nysar snapped, pulling the trigger and ending the guard's miserable life. "We've got a revolution to perform."

The prisoners who had been in first rotation were quick on the uptake and readily joined in. Soon the twelve guards were incapacitated. Eleven were dead, while a twelfth wished he was. Both his legs had been broken in the frantic assault. Black Tiger took a quick look around. It didn't look like many of the prisoners had been hurt. Two were wounded, and a third had been hit by a lucky shot to the chest and had been killed instantly. "Let's go free the men," Merma said, leading the charge.

* * *

"I'm waiting," Luna announced. The longer it took, the more confident she was that he would see reason and surrender. She could see a smart man when she saw it. "Give up your friends and you might earn a lenient sentence."

The truth was that any skilled telepath would be able to rip the information that they needed from his head. She knew it, and he knew it. Even death wasn't a guaranteed out, and that in itself could be disconcerting as a concept. "You're weak, and you won't win in the end. The Moons of Purity will cleanse our system of all freaks." He sounded defiant, but he raised his arms and knelt. His companions followed suit, so Luna led Amok closer to him.

"Freaks? No true Lunatak would defy the throne, so that must make you the freaks. Take them to the dungeons. Torture them until they talk. I want to know where their base is, and who else I should publicly execute. I'm afraid, Drell, that you are about to find out just how 'weak' I can be," Luna said, smacking him on the head with her riding crop.

* * *

The guards were waiting for them, Black Tiger thought with the strongest curse she knew. It had been a gamble to start with. There were two routes into the men's barracks, through the mines or through the outer corridor. Any guards in the corridor were likely to be out of the heavy uniforms and more able to quash a rebellion. The guards in the mine tunnel would be busy still with their prisoners, only it looked like they weren't.

"Must've heard the noise," Chedra cursed, ducking back around the bend, and Black Tiger was inclined to agree. It hadn't been exactly a quiet revolution. Eight lay dead or wounded at the mouth of the tunnel.

"We don't have much choice," Merma said. The guards were alert to what was happening. If they stayed put the women would be caught in a pincer movement as additional support came through the women's barracks. "We're just going to have to chance it. Black Tiger, Nysar, you two create as much darkness down there as you can. We've got twelve guns, we'll run to the mouth and start firing. The odds will be even."

"I've got a better idea," Chedra said. "It sounds like a suicide mission, but if you guys can make it dark, I think I can get to the door to the men's barracks. That's where our back-up is."

Merma looked about to protest, but finally sighed. "We'll fire down the tunnel for twenty seconds. That will hopefully move the guards out of the way for you. Gods be with you."

* * *

Psychro couldn't tell what was going on, but the six guards watching over him were talking in urgent, if hushed tones. Three of them ran out the door, while the remaining three looked nervously towards the prisoners. Of course! There was only one answer. Not knowing that she had been killed, he assumed that Rathja must have gotten word to the authorities, and this was their jailbreak. It was just unfortunate that Myrik was off the base at the moment, but there would be a nasty surprise when he got back.

* * *

"Are you being serious?" Raven asked, staring straight at Myrik. Their transport was ready to go, but the space port had ordered all ships to stay on the ground unless they heard otherwise from Queen Luna herself. "The second we take off, they'll scramble every fighter they've got and blow us clear out of the sky."

Myrik scowled. He wasn't used to being disobeyed. The unfortunate pilot at the controls in front of them wasn't going to be of much use unless he wanted someone to avert his gaze. Raven was never this obstinate, especially in front of others. He knew his role, he was the muscle, the silent observer, the support staff. Oh sure, he had argued before, he'd done it any time he thought Crackle or one of the others was being an idiot, but he'd always maintained a unified front when others were around. "In case you haven't noticed, we have a VIP here, a very VIP. If they find Psikaris onboard, and they will if they conduct a search, they will arrest us or blow us right off the ground."

They stared at each other, locked in a contest of wills; neither of them was willing to give an inch, but deep down both knew the other was right. It was all crumbling apart too quickly, Myrik thought. The gravy train was ending and soon he would be either dead or in shackles. Either way was death, really. Lunar justice could be stern, and the upper echelon of the Moons of Purity was likely to receive death sentences. If they could get back to the Graviton Moon, though, there might be a chance to regroup, gather his prized possessions, and flee out of Luna's reach.

Luna's reach. He nearly chortled at his choice of words but then realized that Luna was the key right now. Obviously, if Drell was successful, Luna wouldn't be an issue and wouldn't be able to give the order that space flight could resume. "I'll convince them to let us leave, then," he said. "When I give the signal, start talking. Act as though you're Luna. Whoever is in charge up there will believe it. Trust me."

It was going to be tricky. It wouldn't fool anyone looking at the video tape afterwards, but that was hardly an issue. Raven would be the one they saw, not him. He sent his mind into the control tower listening in to the babble of conversations going on around him. There. A weak minded Royal who wasn't busy. He slipped into the man's mind and took control.

* * *

Chedra ran like her life depended on it, and in some ways it did. The corridor had looked to be about fifty metres long, a relatively smooth stretch with a carved in section where the guards were hiding. She only prayed that when she reached the end it was the door and not solid rock that she hit.

She was tired, mind and body, but it felt good to actually be doing something. Memories of Myrik's treatment, the savage beating he had inflicted on her because that Icewalker/Psion wouldn't do as he said. Punches, kicks, objects smashed against her. He'd torn fur off her arms and shoved it down her throat. Each violent memory brought back a surge of strength. She could do. She had to do it.

An energy blast whizzed by, informing her that the guards were on to the fact that something was happening. All things considered, she'd been lucky. The things that he had put some of the others through was disgusting. People who would never again have a good night's rest from the nightmarish visions he'd concocted. A helpless Monkian/Icewalker had all his fur scorched off, and salt rubbed in the wounds. She'd been paired with the man, and the guards actually let him tell what had happened. It sickened her.

Mercifully, with the return of her powers came the return of her sixth sense. It seemed, somehow, to guide her steps and she crashed bodily through the door, landing sprawled in the middle of about forty men. "Go help the others!" she gasped. Chedra needed time to recover, but she would rejoin the fight.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Eralorn demanded, walking up to the young man at the controls. With all the chaos, trying to placate angry pilots, seeing a ship taking off of its own volition was not making him happy. He didn't need this kind of stress, in fact his doctor recommended against it.

"Sorry, sir," the flight control operator said, turning in his chair and gesturing vaguely at the screen. "Queen Luna's on that ship. I saw her myself on the monitor. She said she needs to get to the Ice Moon immediately. Also, I am sleeping with your wife."

"Ice Moon? Wait, what? My wife, but I don't have a... look. Queen Luna just sent the message from the royal palace not to let anyone leave. She obviously hasn't had time to run down and hop on a ship. And if she was going to, she would have mentioned it. Track that ship, and report to me at the end of your shift. Someone get..." he paused. Suddenly he couldn't remember what he had been about to say. Coffee. Yes, that was it. He was thirsty and wanted some coffee. "Someone get me a coffee. On the double."

* * *

Myrik maintained his psychic hold as long as he could. The vast distance they were putting between themselves and the Royal Moon was stretching his limits. He hoped it would be good enough to get them clear. There was still traffic coming and going from the other moons, so they would soon be lost. The poor officer manning the controls would likewise forget what his commander had ordered him to do. He finally released his mental hold and flashed a winning grin to Raven. "See? I told you I had it under control."

A snort was the only reply, so Myrik decided to turn his attention to their guest, laying flat on the floor, still sleeping. Her towel had come loose during the commotion and her body was now largely exposed to his eyes, which, were she awake, would be mortifying to her. He had probed her mind, searching for anything useful he could use against her brother, and found nothing but love and devotion between them. They were so close, as close as any two siblings could be. He envied her that. He'd never had any siblings, just himself and his parents, and they'd barely paid any attention to him.

He would get a facsimile soon, but it wouldn't be real. How much effort, how much time, he wondered, would it take to get that from Psychro. The needs of the flesh were met so easily, so many tasty morsels bent to his whims through fear, but what about through love? It was a tempting experiment, but not with Psychro. Sadly, Psychro would never fall in love with him, his heart was too set on the female form.

Psikaris murmured something in her sleep, and moved on to her side. It was a great pity that Cameo wasn't particularly attractive, Myrik thought, watching her closely. There was another man who would do anything to protect Psikaris, a man whom he might also force into a night of passion. An opportunity that he couldn't savour. No matter, he thought, he still had the world's greatest lover under his thumb, and soon it wouldn't just be his thumb.

* * *

"She's been taken." The words resounded in Cameo's head. Numbly the communicator dropped from his hands and he started to sway backwards, caught and steadied by Nuiane. She helped him to a seated position on the bed and stared worriedly at him. He was dimly aware of her, but only vaguely.

This was a moment that would be etched in his mind forever, and the scent of vanilla would always be associated with it. They had stopped back at the hotel to reconvene and go over what little new information they had. Nitro was off in his room, trying to get a hold of people he knew on the Royal Moon, while Mystan had been going through a phone directory. Cameo had been debating contacting Luna to get her to shut down the space port when the call had come in for him.

Time seemed to stop around him as he listened to the Royal Lunatak explaining what had happened. Seven dead. Psikaris missing. A ship somehow by-passing security protocols and escaping. A Darkling man responsible, probably a Psion too. She was alive, but for how long.

It was a very unique feeling, the scene frozen in time, bottled for his benefit. Mystan yawning, Nuiane's vanilla perfume surrounding him as her hand rested almost in the middle of his back, the clock reading 10:33. The place, the people he was with, but most importantly that ache in his heart and the leaden lump in his stomach.

A memory of their bonding ceremony, standing in the middle of an arena filled with people. He'd sworn to protect her, to ensure that they would be happy together forever. He'd known then that there would be hardships, obstacles put in their way, but he had never imagined such words to be uttered in his presence.

Time snapped back into focus. Nitro had rushed from the other room, presumably called by one of the others. He, along with Nuiane and Mystan were worriedly around him. They were asking questions but he didn't hear them. "They've got her," he whispered, answering all their questions. His voice was trembling not only from fear now but pure rage as well. A soul searing rage that was threatening to consume him. He felt like a volcano primed for an eruption, and wanted desperately a target to vent on. One thing became clear, whoever had dared take his bond mate and his unborn children was coming here. "Let's go find those bastards."

* * *

The arrival of the men didn't help, Black Tiger realized the mistake even as she and Nysar ended the darkness in the tunnel. Half the guards were able to turn around and pick off the men as they emerged from the barracks' door. The other half kept their weapons trained down the hallway. It would turn into a massacre if they weren't careful, and soon enough any soldiers who had been waiting for them outside the barracks would come in.

There was, she realized, one hope. A mad sprint to narrow the gap, divert the attention away from the men, and allow more to come out. The only blessing was that the guards seemed to be reluctant to use lethal force. After all, she reasoned, if the slave labour was killed then there would be no new Caramium.

"For freedom!" she shouted, finding the nerve to sprint down the tunnel, energy blasts racing past, and hoping that others would follow. Some would die in the charge, she knew, very likely even herself. An answering roar behind her assured her that the others were there. The roar continued through the sprint, punctuated now and then by screams of pain. Black Tiger desperately tried to block those noises from her head. She didn't need to hear them to know what they meant, and turning to see who had made them wouldn't be good for her own mental health.

As she'd predicted, more guards turned to meet the rush, allowing a few men to slip out, jumping over fallen peers. The tide was being turned. A rictus grin spread across her features and was removed instants later by a beam catching her shoulder. It spun her to the right, where she banged into the wall and had to move to avoid being stepped on by those coming up behind. The evasion gave her the misfortune of seeing seven bodies sprawled across the tunnel floor. Most were motionless, though two might have been alive. Her arm tingled and she tried to coax it back to health by rubbing around the blackened tissue.

She stood uneasily and walked to where the guards were being bludgeoned to death. So much blood, so much death. This was the price of hatred and intolerance. "Okay, everyone. Let's bar the door and take a breather. We've handled some of the guards in this place, but you can bet that more are waiting outside the barracks," Merma said, ushering anyone who could stand on their own inside the men's barracks. Black Tiger wondered about the wounded outside, and realized that they would have to be abandoned for now. The safety of the group mattered the most, and limiting the ways in was important. They had two dozen weapons now, spread over the sixty some odd survivors. The half Psions were moving around, trying to unlock a few of the healthier people's powers. That one extra ability, they knew, could become crucial.

While the Psions worked on that, and several others moved the table and mattresses in front of the door as a makeshift barricade, Black Tiger went to the other door, the one that led to the main hallway. She blinked, a second set of eyelids sliding into place, allowing for a very weak infrared vision. The hallway appeared empty. It didn't sound right. The door behind them showed the cooling bodies of the dead, and the two still warm wounded. So where were the soldiers? Waiting at the security checkpoint, no doubt. As had happened moments ago, the guards would wait for them to walk through the door and pick them off one by one. It seemed grim, but what could they do?

* * *

"Give your mind up to me," the interrogator said. Drell shook his head violently. It wouldn't help, and his resistence wouldn't hold out forever. The Psion, whoever he was, had clearly been performing his job for years. He burrowed deep into Drell's head, shattering barrier after barrier, weakening his subject's resolve. It would take time to divulge the information he was looking for, time that would hopefully give the Moons of Purity a chance to escape. Every second bought more time for Myrik to escape the Royal Moon with his prize. "Myrik?" the interrogator asked, pulling back his mental faculties for a moment. Drell realized the mistake immediately. An aide tapped a few keys and the computer began scanning for the name. "We're going to find them. Make this easier on yourself."

"Never," Drell replied. The Psion stared at him for a long moment and then started rummaging through his head again. Images of his past surfaced, him finding out Myrik's dirty little secret, that he preyed on prostitutes to feed his deviant tastes. He recalled looking over the fence and seeing that healthy crop of trees, a luxury item on the Desert Moon, and realizing what or who he was using as fertilizer. A kind word directed those tastes to another sort, another group who wouldn't be missed. A group who deserved death for the murder of his wife.

The interrogator tried to pull his mind to more recent memories, something that would show where their headquarters was. "I think I've found Myrik in our archives. Wealthy, deemed unfit by the High Priests, they tried to tamp his telepathy. Moved off the Moon and went to the Graviton Moon..."

* * *

"...And after that he has had no fixed address. There's no record of him actually living on the Graviton Moon, but it's reasonable to assume he does," Mystan said, reading off the report. The group was moving at a pretty good clip back to the space port. It all kept coming back to here, he thought. The Graviton Moon, a place so full of joy that no one would suspect it of harbouring such a menace. And now two known Psions were presumed to be of rank within the group. Drell was putting up a good fight, mentally, and his subordinates weren't much better.

The Moons of Purity were good. They smuggled their people in, and kept exact locations a secret. They operated out of a warehouse, that much was known now, and had a hidden base underground. Access codes and secret tunnels were the theme of the day. Cameo was barely listening to him, focussed on getting what he wanted from the space port. Mystan hoped that he and Nitro could stop him from doing anything rash that would get him in trouble with Luna.

They entered the Graviton's office and, through some miracle, Cameo didn't immediately attack. "Where do the Moons of Purity ships go from here?" he demanded, his hands on the man's desk, knuckles whitening from the strain to keep in control.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know anytheeng about the Moons of... Urk!" Cameo reached out and pulled the man forward over his desk, scattering paperwork and office supplies. Mystan watched, mentally imploring Cameo not to hit him.

"Last chance. They've got my bond mate and I want her back."

The Graviton furtively looked from one man to the other and saw that help wasn't coming. "I don't know. I swear eet. They pay me to look the other way when they come," he began blubbering, the faint smell of urine wafted through the air to Mystan's refined senses.

"You don't know? You're as responsible for the kidnaps as they are," Cameo said, his fist cracking into the Graviton's head. "Try looking the other way now." He managed two more strikes before Nitro was finally able to stop him.

"I'm sorry!" the Graviton said, scrambling off the desk and cowering back against the wall. Blood formed a tiny river from his mouth, dripping down to his curled up legs.

"Come on, Cameo. We'll find her. We'll just wait here until they come back and follow them to their base from here," Mystan said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

* * *

The weary warriors, half of whom had just spent hours in the mines, cautiously slipped out of the barracks and into the long hall. There was a single door leading out, unfortunately 'out' in this case meant into a security check point that was teeming with guards. A Darkling/Graviton, who was missing an eye, had approached the door and scanned the other side. He counted at least twenty heavily armed people on the other side, weapons trained on the door. It was a stalemate at best.

They had spent a good thirty minutes discussing plans, and very little had been agreed on. Almost every plan they whipped up ended in a bloody slaughter on the part of the former slaves. The plans became riskier and longer shots, one person even suggested that they try and negotiate with the Moons of Purity.

But finally a plan was set. A group of telekinetics and Gravitons locked hands in the tight corridor, others armed with rifles in front of them, and began a slow concentration. Black Tiger, among the latter group, didn't think it would work. It all hinged on the element of surprise and a large helping of luck. Merma, standing at the front of the pack, gestured.

* * *

"What's taking them?" Frostarn snapped. What she wanted, now more than anything, was to commence the slaughter. She'd cautioned Crackle from the get go that half breeds were an unreliable source of labour and should simply be exterminated rather than tolerated. Torture them first, preferably, but they should all be dead. Now, so bad short staffed, a revolution was on. Somehow, she thought, it was Myrik's fault. Or maybe Psychro, he was the cause of much of her family's misfortune, so this could be heaped on him as well.

"Earthquake!" one of her guardsmen shouted, breaking for the door as the ground began to tremble violently. Frostarn let out another colourful string of curses. As if things weren't going poorly enough, now this. Maybe it would collapse the tunnel on top of the bastards.

"Hold your ground!" she shouted, ineffectually, as several others broke rank and fled. Energy blasts filled the air next as simultaneously the earthquake stopped. Her own people were slow on the uptake, but soon a full fledged firefight was on. She took aim at a Darkling/Tiger cross and let loose a deadly barrage of ice.

* * *

Psikaris stirred at the gentle touch on her abdomen. She'd been having the most dreadful nightmare, but now she was safe again with Cameo. Her eyes fluttered open and she screamed. Realization dawned on her that it hadn't been a dream at all and she stared horrified up at her captors. A Psion man was still rubbing her belly, which she noticed with a start was as bare as the rest of her. A deep flush spread across her face. "You woke her up?" A Darkling with jet black hair demanded, walking over from a closed off area. As the door opened and closed she saw that it was the cockpit of a ship of some kind. That answered some questions, but not all.

"I thought I'd have some fun with our guest here. She's a perfect little hostage, you know. Her husband, sorry 'bond mate' is what the Icewalkers call it, is looking for her. He's on the Graviton Moon."

"And now she knows where she's going. You're insane. Just keep her quiet, you're going to do whatever you want anyway." The Darkling turned and went back into the cockpit. He would have slammed the door were it the right kind.

"You'll have to excuse Raven, he's a little moody. He has no sense of adventure. My name is Myrik and I've gotten to know you quite well this last hour. No, not that way, your honour is intact, my lady, though I know that you and Cameo 'bonded' well before the bonding ceremony, didn't you." She cringed and tried to cover her nudity as best she could with her arms. It would have been made less creepy if he wasn't drawing circles across her midsection.

"What do you want of me?" she managed to ask, her voice trembling.

"From you? Absolutely nothing. You are a carrot to dangle in front of your brother's nose. A means to an end. He will do as I say or he will watch you die, it's that easy. And when I'm done with him I will dispose of both of you." Myrik's hand moved from belly to her hair, ignoring her when she tried slapping his hands away. She started to get up, but he pinned her back down. "I suggest you co-operate. Your bond mate might save you yet, but if you get me angry all he'll find is one large corpse and two tiny undeveloped corpses."

He didn't need to elaborate, she understood exactly what he meant by that. "We have money," she said suddenly. "I'm sure Cameo can pay for our freedom."

She wasn't sure what kind of answer she'd been expecting, it certainly seemed like a longshot at best, but the derisive laughter was surprising. "Money? You think this is about money? There's only one thing that would get me to let you go unharmed, and it won't happen. Your brother's unconditional love."

Now it was her time to laugh, though she managed to stifle it. She knew her brother very well. Psychro was very definitely interested in women and women only. One penis per sexual encounter, he'd told her once. He'd been drunk, if she recalled. But would he change that stance to protect her? Certainly, were the roles reversed, were some woman holding Psychro hostage in exchange for a lesbian encounter, she would do it without hesitation. So that was what Myrik wanted. There was no way that the entire Moons of Purity operated on that basis.

Then it clicked in. Psychro was alive, and they were going to the same moon that Cameo was on. Hope blossomed, lifting her spirits. She could endure whatever this man threw at her, knowing that her odds of rescue were improved.

* * *

The Icewalker goddess, Lunis, called her servant to her side. Merma heard the call in her heart, and felt her body move of its own volition. The tender child, Black Tiger, was like a daughter to her, even though they had only known each other a few short days. Shards of razor-like ice pierced her skin even as she leapt to shield the girl from harm. Thankfully Black Tiger had some sense in her head and took advantage of the situation to return fire at Frostarn.

Merma knew the wounds were fatal. She'd been a doctor too many years not to recognize the signs. The world started to slow to a crawl, and then stopped completely. A woman dressed head to toe in armour and carrying a sword and a pistol walked among the statues. She beckoned to Merma to follow. "She will be fine," Lunis said, blessing the half Icewalker with the sound of her voice. "You have served me well. Come with me, your time is over." Obediently, Merma stood, staring back at her corpse. It was just a shell now, her place was with the goddess.

* * *

Black Tiger screamed, as Merma's blood sprayed across her. Even though she had seen so many die already, seeing this one hit hard. Her gun fired again and again, trying to hit Frostarn, the vile woman who had done this. The cowardly woman who was starting to pull back as she realized that the circumstances weren't looking good.

The number of guards was dwindling, as were the number of revolutionaries. The guards were armoured and skilled with their weapons, the prisoners weakened and tired, but the latter had nothing to lose. They had been pushed around for so long that, like a pressure valve, they could do naught but burst.

Frostarn broke from the room, sprinting with one of the guardsmen while the group gave chase. Sixty was down to less than forty. Too many good people sacrificed here, and each happy to have done so for the sake of revenge. Black Tiger would always remember Merma's effort. How she had given up her life so that Black Tiger could live, and she would honour that gift the only way she knew how. By living it well, by making sure such crimes and injustices were conquered.

They raced from the security check point towards the next one. Only as they opened the door did Black Tiger wonder whether there would be another ambush here.

* * *

"There eet ees!" the Graviton said, startling Nitro out of his daydreams. The group had decided to keep Cameo occupied by having him go through the computer's database, keeping track of the comings and goings of the various ships through the space port. The Graviton port master had been gracious enough to identify which ships he was supposed to ignore.

With all the information that was beginning to pour in, Nitro was feeling more and more confident that they would soon be announcing that they had apprehended the Moons of Purity's leaders. They knew Drell was high ranking, and that this Myrik was up there too. They had one but not the other. Yet. The positive identification of that ship was a major boon to them. It brought them one step closer to arresting or killing the lot of them. All they had to do was follow it to its home and victory would be theirs.

On that ship, and it certainly visually matched the markings of the one that had left the Royal Moon, would be Cameo's partner, so Nitro wasn't surprised at all when Cameo bolted from the room to a waiting shuttle that Mystan and Nuiane were keeping ready, forcing him to rush to catch up.

* * *

It was happening! Very dimly Fantasy could hear the commotion going on. Guards running around, weapons firing, she even dimly felt the earth tremble. It was time to show Myrik and his ilk that she was not some playful pussy cat to do tricks for their amusement. No, like her Tiger ancestors, this kitty had claws.

This 'kitty' also had a lock pick. She'd anticipated this happening someday and had managed to coax a bit of wire into a serviceable pick. Although she'd been tempted to use it for some time, the consequences for being re-captured had always been too great. Myrik, she knew, would make sure she wasn't killed and he would invent some nasty ways of punishing her insubordination. Today was different. Myrik wasn't around, and the rebellion sounded like it was going strong. Even one person could make a difference.

Picking locks wasn't her forte, her delicate hands were more accustomed to displaying jewellery than this, but she had done her share of illegal activities in her time. The finer things in life were expensive, and she couldn't always count on a man buying her these things. She wasn't overly proud of her past, but it was her life. The one piece jewellery she didn't need, she thought smugly as it snapped open, was the collar. She might never wear a necklace again, as a result of it. With that done, she put her skills to work on the door.

* * *

"Tell Crackle what's going on," Frostarn said, shoving a guard towards the elevator. "I've got something I need to take care of." She started estimating how much time she would have. One of the first things she had noticed when she'd joined up, recruited in her family home by Crackle himself, were the explosives buried in the walls of the massive complex. The Graviton obviously planned this in advance, it would be his little insurance policy to make sure that no one ever knew the full scope of what had happened.

Once that miserable guard told him what was happening, he would go to his secret ship and set off the charges. He was fat and lazy, a common trait she found in the lesser races, which meant she probably had at least a half hour to do what she needed and get out. Doubtless there was more time, he might decide that he needed an emergency sandwich or something, and the guard might have trouble finding him.

The revolt was well under way. The number of soldiers left was dwindling, only a dozen were at the security checkpoint. A large number of the escaping prisoners would be killed, but enough would survive to get through. That, in fact, was probably the shorter window of opportunity. If any of those prisoners caught her, they would kill her without hesitation. Common sense said she should flee immediately, live to fight another day, but vengeance spoke louder than sense.

All her life her family had been tormented by one man. Psychro of House Myntaello. His pathetic little House that insisted on crossbreeding, weakening the mighty Icewalker race, disgusting little worms that were a blight on the Moon. But that one man in particular... There had been the three of them. Glacin had been first, the middle daughter, and she had been led astray by Psychro. She had seduced him and she'd even teased her father mercilessly that she was going to bond with him. Only when Frostarn had stepped in and beaten sense into her did she realize that their father was right, so when Psychro did ask to bond with her she gratefully rejected him.

That should have been the end of it, and if it had Frostarn might not be running down this hall. Icilia, the youngest child, poor poor Icilia. Psychro corrupted her, violated her and turned her against her own family. He stole her virginity, and filled her belly with his demon seed. She even claimed that she loved him, but the truth was obvious to everyone else. Psychro had done it out of rage, the most Icewalker thing he had ever done. It had been an act of mercy to kill naive Icilia before she could be corrupted further.

And that was why he needed to die. Crackle would blow the place up, and Psychro would perish, but she needed to see his corpse with her own eyes, it was the only thing that would allow Icilia's spirit to rest at last.

Frostarn burst through the door to the special holding cells and drew a long knife from her boot. It was this same knife she had used on Icilia, and she had kept it all these years as a reminder of the sins of the past. "Psychro," she said flatly, approaching the cell door. "It's time to die."

* * *

The terrain rolled beneath them. The city's edge gave way to vast farm lands where the grains needed to brew the multitude of Graviton liquors were grown. Factories and distilleries sat side by side with a smattering of houses for the employees. A long and winding river wove its way through all of it, a patch of blue against the endless yellows and greens.

Under different circumstances Cameo might have found it fascinating in its difference. Compared to the almost entirely white Moon he came from, the Graviton countryside was like an exquisite work of art. At present, however, his thoughts were elsewhere. Nitro had told him off quite sternly for his continued pressuring to speed up, and so now he was sulking in the passenger seat.

He understood, he really did. They wanted to follow Myrik's ship, but they didn't want him to know they were being followed. There was a delicate balance to perform, but it made him feel uneasy. He didn't know what was going on in that ship or what they wanted with Psikaris. Was she still alive? Would they kill her in a confrontation? And how many people would he have to kill in return if anything should happen to her?

There were so many unknown variables and it wasn't helping his temperament any to be flying so slowly behind that sleek transport ship. He turned to Mystan, who was listening in on the radio. "For the fifth time, the authorities are on the way," the Psion said without looking up. That was good. Facing an unknown number of enemies he wanted to be prepared for anything. Of course, the way he was feeling there could be a hundred and he would wade in there for his bond mate. For the thirty-second time he prayed she was okay.

* * *

She squirmed under Myrik's hungry stare. She knew what he was doing, other than the obvious of stroking her hair. He was rifling through her mind, looking at all the memories she had of her brother. From their early childhood to more recent events. Sometimes, when he touched a particularly vivid memory she could sense which one it was. And she was powerless to stop him. He was too good at this, and the one time she had tried to put up a mental barrier he had slapped her hard across the face, the wound still stung and she was certain there was a mark there.

The mental link was broken suddenly, which almost more disturbing than when he'd been invading her brain. "We're almost there," he whispered, and she sensed an enjoyment from him in her discomfort. "I wonder what Psychro will say when he sees you. Some profanity, no doubt. Very uncultured. I bet I could get some profanity out of you too, if I tried. But you're too easy. Too modest and sheltered, so uncomfortable with your body." His hand shifted from her hair, trailing down her neck towards her chest.

A single thought came to her. He wanted a reaction and wouldn't stop his meandering progress until he got one. A litany of foul curses, ones she'd picked up working in the hangar, came from her mouth in such a string that it might have made those others blush. Myrik began laughing, but obliged her and removed his hand. His smile said that it wasn't her body he wanted to caress anyway. "Almost there," he repeated, his eyes glazing over.

* * *

Black Tiger didn't know where the burst of energy came from. In all of a half second her mind had registered that there was a collection of guards in the room, all pointing weapons at her, and the next half second she was moving, diving to the side and trying to bring her own weapon around. A scream of pain told her that the man who had been behind her hadn't reacted the same. She didn't have time to look. She blindly started firing, reminding herself that if she stopped moving she was likely dead. It was going to be a close call, anyway. A blast of energy struck a hair's breadth from her leg.

Another cry, another fallen friend. Black Tiger's weapon discharged again, this time hitting a guardsman between the eyes. The back of his head erupted, splattering the wall behind him with blood and brain matter. Dimly she knew that if she made it out of this alive, she was going to have some issues.

* * *

Warily Psychro stepped back from the force field. Frostarn was approaching, and her words left no doubt as to her intentions. The room was empty except for the Icewalker woman and the other 'special' prisoners, all the guards having left earlier to counter the revolution. That it was going well for the former slaves was obvious, he could hardly doubt that Frostarn would be here now if it weren't.

"Don't do it, Frostarn," he said, trying to pour on his psychic charm. It didn't work, his powers were still blocked. She reached over and deactivated the field. Now all that stood between them was about ten feet and a slender knife.

"You're a dead man." She closed the gap quickly and thrust her blade at him. Psychro jumped onto the bed, narrowly avoiding the brunt of her strike. But Frostarn was quick, she was a trained fighter, had a winning record in the arenas, and slashed across, spilling blood from his shoulder.

This wasn't his field. He was a brawler, used to drunken fights over such one on one confrontations. His only advantage was that she was angry and not thinking straight. She was bordering on obsession and that would lead to a mistake. He wouldn't be able to take advantage of it, however, if he was dead. She slashed again and he narrowly caught her wrist, trapping it for a moment. "You killed my sister," she hissed, punching with her free hand. The swing grazed his head, and he retaliated, landing a solid punch to her stomach.

He out massed her, he was on the high ground and she was disoriented for a second. Psychro pushed off the bed and drove her into the wall, her knife clattering to the ground. "I didn't kill her. I loved her. I loved both of them," he replied.

A knee to his groin ended further comment. "You made love to them, you mean," she gasped as she shoved him backwards on to the bed and straddled him, hands grabbing his throat. "You used them and ruined their lives. You're a disgusting excuse for a Lunatak, and soon you'll be dead, just like Icilia." Her thumbs were pushing down on his larynx, making it difficult to breathe let alone rebut her arguments.

Life flashed before his eyes. Lost loves and friends treasured, happy moments and sad. He fleetingly remembered Glacin telling him that she had used him to anger her father, how heart broken he'd been that day. He remembered the night before, being used by Myrik in a similar fashion. He had been used by so many, and had returned the favour ten times over. How many failed relationships had he had? The number was written in a book somewhere, his little black book.

Frostarn let go suddenly. His eyes jerked open, life returning slowly, and saw Frostarn's torso arched, flailing desperately behind her. Purple striped arms hammered violently on the Icewalker's back and head. "Fantasy?" he gasped, the words coming out as a feeble croak. Indeed, the Psion/Tigress had rescued him. He gathered his strength and decked Frostarn as hard as he could across the jaw, rendering her unconscious.

The two women collapsed on top of him, one rolling the other limply to the floor. "Are you all right?" Fantasy asked, staring down at him, worry in her eyes. She helped him to a sitting position.

"I've been better. You?" He rubbed his throat gently. It was sore, and would likely be sore for a long time after. There had been such malice and hate in that grip. Another minute and he would have been dead. He knew that for a fact.

"I'll be happier when Myrik's head is on a spit," she replied. He could see that she meant it. Whatever vile things he had made her do over her time incarcerated, he would pay for them, and the sentiment was similar in himself. "Here, finish the job."

A knife was pressed into his hand. He stared from the knife up to Fantasy. He knew what she meant. Frostarn had brought the knife, intent on killing him. It was only fitting that he use the same weapon to end her life. "I'll go let the others out," she said, leaving him alone to the task.

She left, as promised. Alone he rolled Frostarn on to her back and crouched over her. It would be easy, he thought. A single slice across the throat, a fitting way to die given what she had tried to do, or perhaps a stab in that cold black heart. She deserved it and he stared down at her unconscious body, trying to remind himself that she wouldn't have hesitated were the roles reversed, all he needed to do was swallow to remember that.

And yet... With the anger and hurt gone from her visage all he could see was Icilia. She had smiled so warmly, inviting him to take what she could never regain. Did the taking of one life balance out the loss of another? Blood ran down his arm, splashing on her chest. He stood slowly. He couldn't do it. His ability to love had been tarnished by this family, and nothing would bring that back. He'd had his revenge. Besides, Lunar justice demanded that some of the higher ups needed to be brought before a court of law. In an Icewalker court she would be put to death anyway. And it would serve a purpose, the only purpose here would be personal satisfaction, and he couldn't muster it.

Calmly walking out of the cell, wiping the knife off on his pant leg, he reactivated the force field. "If you don't have the balls, let me do it," a Royal/Graviton said. He was missing a leg, and one of his ears had been shredded.

"No," Psychro replied sternly. He gestured towards the cell with the knife. "Someone has to pay for what happened here. Nothing you or I do to her is worse than what Queen Luna will come up with. She killed for fun, and we're better than that. We're better than her. Besides, our kinsmen need us."

Fantasy walked over, carrying the rifle that Frostarn had dropped. "Don't expect that argument to work when we find the hole Myrik is hiding in."

* * *

Black Tiger felt like she was walking on air. The last of the guards was incapacitated. Nysar had, thankfully, managed to refrain herself from killing him, a squat Psion who was looking terrified at the one-time prisoners who were surrounding him. While there were other soldiers who were still alive, he was the one in the best shape. "You're our ticket out of here," Nysar told him. "I presume you know the codes?" He nodded vigorously.

Relief. They were finally going to get out of this place, the few that were still alive. So many dead or wounded. Black Tiger did a quick head count and saw twenty-three still standing, though they were all nursing injuries of some kind. For her own part, her arm was still feeling weak. Now that the surge of adrenaline was gone, her gun slipped from her grasp and clattered harmlessly on the ground.

Freedom to come. But there were still others here, the thought struck her. Fantasy, Psychro, and who knew how many others trapped in the rooms down the other hallway. "Someone come with me. The rest of you take the elevator. There are still friends who need us," she said.

"Don't worry about us," a voice said, causing many to turn their weapons towards the hallway.

"Psychro! Fantasy!" she shouted, running and hugging them, tears streaming down her face. It hadn't been so long, but there had always been the chance. She hadn't realized just how gripping the fear had been that either of these people might be dead.

"Let's save the introductions for later. I think you were about to hit the elevator?"

* * *

"He's landing," Nitro said, examining his screen to make sure that he was right. The last thing he needed was to get Cameo's hopes up now. "A weapons manufacturing warehouse, so we need to be careful." It figured, of course. A place that sold weapons would have numerous shipments coming and going, no one would question it, and it would be easy enough to smuggle people in. What they needed those people for was another question, one he feared they would find out the answer to.

"Now we've got him. Let's move." Nuiane snorted and Nitro bit back the remark. He understood Cameo's eagerness. His own desire to see the sordid mess resolved was mounting too, regardless of the need to state the obvious. Instead he sympathetically muttered an affirmative and guided the small shuttle towards the warehouse in question.

* * *

The ground shook as the elevator rose slowly up the shaft. Fantasy couldn't believe it. Two months in this godforsaken place and she would live to tell the tale. She would see the sun again. Once they were out of this place she planned on tanning herself on some beach for the next two weeks, as some waiter plied her with drinks. And the food, oh the food she planned on consuming. Something dreadfully extravagant and doubtless expensive. After all the crap she'd been through, she deserved it.

They all did. Looking from one haggard face to the next she could see disbelief written there. They were all survivors of this travesty, and they would try and return to their normal lives.

Normal? Could they ever have normal lives after all this? Not without a tight support network, they would need each other. Someone would need to organize a contact list, to keep track of one another, for who could fully comprehend what they had been through. And what of her own normal life? She'd had a hotel room, had been sharing it with some friends as one celebrated their wedding. What had happened to her possessions and her home? Daunting prospects to be sure.

A rumble and a jerking stop signalled that they had come to the top of the shaft. "Let's take this slow. When I came here there was a guard at the bottom of the stairs, and more up above," a Graviton/Darkling named Kraedon said, bringing reality crashing back into place. He was right. She'd momentarily forgotten that the Moons of Purity extended beyond those dreadful caverns. They had a base of operations. A warehouse and the gods knew what else.

"We've made it this far," a woman named Chedra said sternly. "They're not stopping me." And she strode forward, weapon in hand to the door. Fantasy held her breath, expecting a barrage of laser fire, but there was no guard. Was that a good thing? One more door, just a trap door between them and fresh air. It might almost be worth death to experience that again. Chedra placed her hand over the button and looked back.

Someone, she noticed, had gagged the guard they'd brought with them to prevent him from warning anyone who might be listening. Smart move, that. A rumble and scraping noise was heard as the heavy crates over the door shifted, and the door itself swung open. Chedra took the first step, followed by Black Tiger and Psychro, weapons drawn and swinging back and forth.

They spread out as quietly as they could, tracking down the small handful of factory workers and taking them down before they could alert their comrades. But while her friends worried about that, Fantasy was looking out the window. A large transport ship was slowly sinking towards a landing platform outside. "Myrik," she whispered. Somehow she knew that he was on that ship. She couldn't explain it, she just knew.

* * *

Psychro had never seen another being move quite so fast as Chedra did. The two had found themselves approaching a tall staircase leading up to a series of offices. They'd been moving quickly to begin with, hoping to catch whomever was in charge here. They heard a distant door slam and, instinctively, knew that was not a good sign. At the very least it meant that some head honcho, probably the 'Crackle' Myrik had mentioned, was getting away. Chedra was a blur, finding reserve energy and covering the distance to the offices in seconds flat, with Psychro close behind.

He entered the room and saw Chedra's feet disappearing through another trap door, this one in the ceiling. He left her to it. He didn't really know her outside a few brief encounters, but he felt confident enough that she could handle herself. She'd taken a nasty beating on his behalf, he remembered that much, and suspected that there was enough pent up frustration.

There were other things on Psychro's mind. An office like this probably belonged to someone important, which meant communications systems and computer access. Computers weren't his specialty, but he knew enough about them to get by. He shoved a chair that was too short and wide for him out of the way and examined the computer screen. "Chedra! Keep him alive!" he shouted, bolting up the stairs.

* * *

"Myrik." The word had been whispered, but it meant trouble to Black Tiger. She glanced over to Fantasy, standing a few feet away, and followed her gaze to the landing ship. Was Myrik on that ship? It was entirely possible. Anger mounted. She wasn't a killer, or hadn't been before this, but there was one man who she did want dead. As if transfixed, Fantasy began walking towards that ship, her gun at the ready.

"Incoming!" Black Tiger shouted. She didn't care if there were still factory workers free, the real trouble would be on that ship. More prisoners, no doubt, too. Her small army converged on the doorway, following Fantasy to the large garage doors.

Her army. The thought almost made her smile. It was amazing how she'd fallen into a quasi leadership role with Merma's passing. That Icewalker/Human would be proud to see her now, guiding the band. But she never would. Another friend who had been cut down, and for what? That blasted Caramium? Yet another reason for Myrik and his friends to suffer.

* * *

"On your feet, my pretty," Myrik said, grabbing Psikaris' arm, wrenching it from her bosom and hauling her to her feet. She scowled wickedly. "My, my, if looks could kill I wouldn't be feeling very well, would I? Welcome to your new home."

"Something's wrong," Raven said, coming up from behind. The appearance startled him, he had been so focussed on his treasured prize and the prospects of what was to come that he hadn't actually noticed the Darkling until he'd spoken. He managed to act unruffled, however and turned Psikaris' towards him while Raven exited the ship.

"He worries too much," Myrik explained. "Welcome to your new home, my dear. Enjoy those last glimpses of sun, because soon it will be nothing but a faint memory." He shoved her towards the door and escorted her outside.

* * *

Psychro reached the top of the ladder and found himself in a small square room. There was little of interest about the room. A single person ship took up seventy percent of the space and a control panel on the wall that obviously had been used to open a skylight. Most notable of all was the heavyset Graviton squirming and screaming beneath Chedra. His legs were covered in blood, and the rest of him didn't look much better.

Crazed eyes stared at him, a look he recognized. Chedra was consumed by bloodlust. Her mouth dripped with the flesh she had torn free. She looked like a wild animal defending its dinner. Why hadn't he seen it sooner? This, she had assumed, was the source of all the agony she had been put through. Her body swayed and the head swivelled back to eye the juicy morsel beneath her razor sharp claws. She'd have made her ancestors proud, incapacitating her prey and soon she would go in for the kill, probably ripping out his throat.

He stepped closer and those eyes turned back to him, accompanied now by a low growl. For an instant he thought she might attack. "Chedra. Don't kill him yet. We need him alive." The growl intensified, and now the teeth bared. He braced himself for impact. He didn't want to hurt her, but what he had seen downstairs prompted him to act. Psychro knew that he had to talk quickly before instinct took its course. "He set explosives, we'll all die, including your friends."

Recognition of his words sunk in, much slower than he'd have liked. Still growling she backed off. "Listen, Crackle is it, you're going to tell me how to deactivate those bombs. Co-operate and I might protect you from Chedra here."

"Okay! Just keep her away!" the Graviton burbled.

"Start talking then. What do I do first?"

* * *

Outside, Psikaris shuddered violently as she was pressed forward on to the tarmac. A large warehouse dominated the scene, with an equally large factory adjacent. There was a pair of picnic tables to one side, and a hefty dumpster on the other. A roadway led off into the distance where, faintly she could see the outline of another building. Probably a neighbour, she thought. No one around to see her plight.

No one except for Myrik, Raven and the six other people who were disembarking with her. Where was Cameo and would he ever find her in this place? She knew where Psychro was, anyway. He was in there, waiting for what Myrik had in store for him. "Let's hurry up," Raven said, "I, for one, don't intend on sticking around." He ran on ahead, presumably to gather possessions or something. From the conversations the two men had had, the authorities, namely her Cameo, were getting close. If they moved from this moon, it would take so much longer for Cameo to find them again.

Raven didn't get far before the large garage doors started to open. Almost immediately about twenty people armed with guns spilled out. Psikaris couldn't believe it. Such a wide variety of people of different races and all very angry if their expressions could be judged at this distance. There was hope. Twenty against eight were excellent odds, especially when the twenty in question were as determined looking as they were.

And yet, something was missing. The prisoners had revolted, but not Psychro. Psikaris' heart froze solid. The hybrids looked tired and wounded. Had Psychro been killed? Was that a possibility? She'd never been without him, she had barely even considered the possibility, and now it was a stark reality. No, he couldn't be dead. She would know somehow. Not until she saw his corpse with her own eyes would she believe it, and she wouldn't see it because he wasn't dead. Psikaris told herself sternly to stay positive even as the former slaves came closer.

Raven's colourful curse was countered by the words of joy singing in her heart, a song that faltered when the tarmac turned black. She stared helplessly at the Darkling, knowing him to be the source of the inky darkness. "Do something, Myrik," he snapped, calling over his shoulder.

"A trifle melodramatic, don't you think?" Myrik sighed. He pushed Psikaris to the ground and closed his eyes. Confused shouts and stray energy blasts erupted from the fog, making Psikaris wince as some came dreadfully close to hitting her. And then it went quiet, an eerie feeling as the silence became overwhelming. "There. They should be properly subdued now. You may disperse your cloud."

He did, and Psikaris could see what had happened. The telepath had placed a mental command on each of them to lie down on their faces. "You see, Raven? Everything is under my control. See to rounding them up, will you?"

Myrik had missed one. In all the confusion, Psikaris had missed seeing the Psion/Tigress walking methodically at the edge of the group. She was unarmed, her gait was non-threatening, and she seemed to be relatively unscathed. Perhaps, she thought, this was a spy working for the Moons of Purity. Perhaps the hybrids had been set up. "Ah, Fantasy. I'd like you to meet Psychro's sister. She'll be keeping you company from now on," Myrik said as the woman walked closer.

"That's good, master. I need to apologize. I haven't been the best of slaves for you and I want to make it up to you somehow." Fantasy was within a few steps now. Now that she was close Psikaris felt nervous about her. There was something undefinable in the way she talked, the way she moved, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"What's the matter, pet, are you worried that I have a new favourite?" Myrik wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled her violently in for a kiss. "Don't worry. I will always have a place for you, like on your knees."

"Oh but master, there's something you need to know." Psikaris saw the flash of metal an instant before it moved. A knife slid easily into Myrik's heart, he gasped, eyes going wide as saucers. "Chedra removed your little mental blocks. I'm my own woman again, and you are dead." His body slowly slid from the knife and hit the ground with a resounding thud. Psikaris had never been so close to a dead body, and the experience was not one she wanted to have again.

* * *

For months Fantasy had planned it out. She'd considered all the possible ways to end Myrik's life and dreamt of each of them; cutting pieces of him off little by little and feeding them to him until he finally bled to death, burning him alive over a low fire, or just pummelling him with her bare hands. But when it came to it, a knife thrust to the heart had been needed. The truth was, deep down she knew how dangerously effective he could be. What had just happened only reminded her of that.

She might get personal satisfaction from a slow death, but there was every chance that he would escape, that his mind would reel her in again and she would suffer countless indignities for the attempt. She supposed that she'd always know that it would have to end that way. She'd been lucky. Fantasy had endured countless nights performing sexual favours to this depraved man, and had played her role perfectly. He hadn't perceived her as a threat. When he psychically subdued the prisoners he'd ignored her, assuming that she couldn't hurt him still. Fortune smiled on her yet again.

The prisoners. With Myrik dead, his psychic hold was released, as the guards were quickly finding out. There was also a shuttle approaching at high speeds. It was over. Blessedly over. A ragged sigh of relief escaped her lips, and she turned to the woman Myrik had identified as Psychro's sister. She looked terrified and worried, it wasn't hard to guess why. Between concern for her brother, and the fact that she was only wearing a towel, she had plenty to worry about. Fantasy pulled Myrik's coat off his lifeless corpse and held it out to her. "Last I saw, your brother was alive, he's inside still. We'll find him once we finish rounding up these scum."

* * *

Black Tiger was trying to figure out what had happened. One instant she'd felt the sudden urge to lie down, and the next she was pointing her rifle squarely at Raven's chest. "All right, Moons of Purity, this is over. Raise your hands and hope none of us have itchy trigger fingers," she said out loud, as the others got to their feet and began aiming their weapons at their former captors. The fight was over, though, the soldiers knew that they had been beaten, even Raven. "I hope it was worth it. You ruined so many lives, and for what? Money? Guess what, see if that money helps you when you're being put to death. Here's a hint, it won't."

He wouldn't meet her eyes, and it was probably for the best. He'd been as big a part of her torment as Myrik had. He'd been the one who had brought her to this place, him Drell and Myrik. And now one was dead. He knew that she wanted an excuse to kill him, and he wasn't willing to give it to her.

This was how it had ended, then. Lives lost, but she had come out alive and stronger for it. She could feel Merma's spirit smiling at her, a warm energy surging through her muscles. She'd been a good woman, a kind face in an evil place. How many other noble souls had passed through that trap door, never to emerge.

Black Tiger's thoughts were interrupted by the landing of a shuttle. Three men and a woman emerged, looking cautiously around at the gathering. One of the men, an Icewalker of some kind, broke from the pack and ran towards Fantasy and the woman beside her. "Ladies and gentlemen. I am Mystan, official representative of Queen Luna of the Lunatak empire. All members of the Moons of Purity are officially under arrest by order of the queen, and a full investigation will be conducted to determine what happened here, and to prevent it from ever happening again. Is this everyone?"

"Mystan, I've heard of you," Black Tiger said, approaching. "There are more inside. Wounded mostly, and a lot of dead." She began explaining the situation as best she could to the trio.

* * *

"He's dead," Chedra said, climbing down the ladder. Psychro glanced over from the computer. He wasn't surprised to hear it, the wounds had looked rather severe. Thankfully the crazy look was gone from her.

"I doubt that the courts would have let him live long anyway," Psychro replied. "I managed to stop the countdown, anyway. Someone's going to need to find the bombs and remove them manually, but that's not my problem."

"Look, I'm sorry about that. That wasn't me up there." She looked away shyly, and he saw a hint of an embarrassed flush in her cheeks.

He patted her on the shoulder. "I know. Let's go check on the others."

* * *

Psikaris held Cameo tightly, crying all down the front of his jacket. She'd been so worried about what would happen, and now here he was, her proverbial knight in shining armour. Fantasy had wandered off, and they were still standing next to Myrik's dead body, but that didn't bother her at the moment. Her world was slowly righting itself. There was only one thing missing from it.

"Save some hugs for me." And that was it. Turning around and jumping joyfully into Psychro's arms in a single bound. He was alive, just as she'd hoped. She couldn't tell what troubles he'd been through, knew that there would be hours of conversation between them to sort it all out. But that was later, there would be time to heal when they were away from this place. A groan drew her attention to his shoulder, stained purple with blood. "I'll be fine, 'Karis," he assured her. She noticed that his grip on her didn't slack, and she knew that he'd been just as scared as she'd been. "I'll be fine now."

He finally pulled away and walked to where Myrik lay, and placed his fingers on the man's throat. "Good riddance. That's one man the moons are better off without. Come on, there's a lot of work to do."

The local authorities and paramedics were starting to arrive, the prisoners, dead and wounded were gathered together and sorted. Psychro was right. There was a lot of work to be done and a lot of questions to be answered.


	6. Chapter 6

Purification by Jonathan Prideaux  
Epilogue

It was a long walk to the small dwelling, Psychro's feet fell heavily on the ground, one in front of the other. For once his slow progress had nothing to do with the high gravity on the moon, but the weight dragging on his heart.

They had found Rathja's corpse in one of the tunnels, identified by a scrap of flesh that clung to the bone. His only child dead. On top of everything else he had endured it seemed unfair, a mocking taunt from the gods themselves. He'd had trouble sleeping that night, every movement of the covers had seemed to be Myrik's wandering hand. The bastard was dead, he'd made sure it was true, but his spirit was still out there. Lingering.

The door opened and Heavy Bevy ushered him in. He didn't need to say it, his face told her the story. She held him tight to herself and began crying. "How deed eet happen?" she asked between sobs.

He suspected she'd seen the news reports. Reporters had arrived on the scene shortly after the paramedics and police had, and they'd conducted interviews. None of the prisoners had been willing to talk, but enough details had gotten out. Even with that, he didn't think she was ready for the full story, but then she deserved the truth. She would forever wonder, and it would be better to have her hate him now than down the road. "It was horrible," he said softly, pulling her to the couch. "I wish I could say she didn't suffer, but I'm a terrible liar."

Slowly he told her, watching her reactions carefully, from what he knew of her abduction to the savage beating, how it had all been a ploy to get information out of him. He tried to explain how he had finally broken down and tried to save her, and how Crackle had apparently countermanded the order to send her to a hospital. He then assured her that all parties involved were dead.

Heavy Bevy's crying faltered, and he continued to hold her tightly. He'd grown to care for this woman, united through a common bond, and he feared to see hate in her face. "Thank you," she whispered. "We lost something that can never be returned. At least she died knowing you loved her."

She didn't know how true that was. So much had been lost, lives and innocense. The faces of the dead, covered in sheets, came unbidden to his mind. Each one had family, both hybrids and soldiers alike. Each would be mourned.

"Don't go yet," she said as he started to leave. And he obliged, staying well into the night, doing his best despite the hole in his heart to comfort her loss as well.

* * *

She'd been in the shower for two hours already and still she didn't feel clean. The Graviton government had reached out to the victims, provided them with a place to stay, fresh food and clean clothes. Fantasy stared up at the bathroom door, feeling sorry for Chedra. Though the offer of space had been gratefully accepted, there was also a limited amount of it. The two women had come to a strange agreement to keep one another company until permanent arrangements were made.

Fantasy understood the feeling. For all that they had been through, being alone brought the horrors back. Even now, when she closed her eyes, she could feel the imprint of the collar around her neck. She could feel Myrik's hands probing at places he had no right to. What had Chedra endured? Repeated beatings, mostly. The injuries would heal with time, but the scars would always be there.

The shower stopped and the half Cheetah finally emerged, wrapped in a bright purple towel. She collapsed on to the bed and just lay on the soft mattress for a long time. "What did the doctor say?" she finally asked.

A long hard swallow. Each of them had been thoroughly examined by a team of doctors, investigating how much radiation damage there had been amongst other things. But Fantasy had spoken to a female nurse about a different concern. Myrik had tried to be careful with his sex, but she'd always had a nagging doubt. Hearing the doctor dispel it had been a massive weight from her shoulders. The nurse had left a message just as Chedra was heading into the shower. "I'm not pregnant. Hopefully no one else is, either. Myrik's line ends with him," she replied. She'd considered having kids at one point, but not that way.

"Good." A longer silence, and Fantasy thought that Chedra must have drifted off to sleep. "Fantasy? We'll all keep in touch, won't we?"

The voice was soft, causing Fantasy to remember that Chedra was younger than she. "Of course we will. Anyone that wants to. I expect a lot of us will go to the trial too." She went quiet again, and this time Fantasy heard the soft snoring. The soothing sound allowed her to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Black Tiger jumped as the Darkling ship lifted off the ground. She was trying again to get to Third Earth, and the memory of that last trip still lingered. She'd had familiar faces with her last time. Psychro and Tug Mug. The former would eventually join her on that distant planet, while the latter was already there.

Mind Grind had been on that last voyage too. She'd seen his corpse laying in one of the tunnels, struck down by a soldier's gun. She'd seen many corpses, she hoped she could un-see them. She'd been invited, along with the others, to attend a mass funeral along with the individual funerals but had declined. She'd even turned down an invitation from Chedra to come to the trial. The thing she wanted most right now was to go to Third Earth and see her parents again. She needed to feel their love again. Chedra had understood and wished her well. Black Tiger certainly intended on keeping in touch with them, all of them.

She looked out the window. A squadron of fighters was accompanying them as far as the asteroid field, as an added precaution. The Moons of Purity were disbanded, but there might still have been a few stragglers out there.

* * *

"You know what you're asking, don't you." Mystan sipped a glass of wine as he looked over the table at Psychro. It was the day after the breakout and Mystan was waiting for a ship to take him back to the Psion Moon. In the meantime, a quiet café served as a pleasant interlude until it got there.

"I do, and I think it's for the best." Of course he did. Mystan had asked the question merely as a formality. Psychro's expression was easy to read. He knew what he was in for and had probably considered the consequences.

"It can be done, though I would make a suggestion. I know people who can fully erase memories, if that's what you really want, but the better option is muting them. You'll still remember what happened, remember the people and events, but the specifics and the emotions attached will be hazy, accessible only if you really concentrate."

Psychro didn't answer, he drank his beer and placed the empty mug back on the table, suggesting that he didn't want any memory of the days. He was obviously drunk too, which didn't help either. "I can tell you horror stories, if you want. Someday you'll notice a gap in your memory and you'll wonder, it happens more often than you think, and when you do you'll visit a Psion who will remove the block. If you thought living through whatever they did to you was bad once, experiencing it a second time will be horrific." It was why memory erasing was frowned upon, it was too common for a person to encounter difficulties surrounding the block. They might meet a face from that time and be unable to place them, they might see some object that should be familiar, and in some rare cases the block might erode on its own and seep the memories into dreams.

"Let me put it another way." Mystan decided to bring up that very issue. "What happens if you run into Fantasy again? You'll have no memory of her, just a faint buzz. And what about Rathja? You won't know that she's dead. I'm telling you, let me get someone to mute the memories. You'll be better off for it."

The two names struck chords within him. Mystan could tell that Psychro knew he was right. "Fine. We'll do it your way, but if it doesn't help..."

"I'll arrange for a more permanent solution. My ship arrives in two hours, you can accompany me back to the Psion Moon and I'll point you at the right person. In the meantime, no more alcohol. It needs to be done on a sober mind."

* * *

A week passed. Queen Luna, dressed in her most formal robe, the crown of office on her head, sat astride Amok and stared down from her balcony at the three beneath her. "Drell Mindrain, Raven of the Dark Moon, and Frostarn of House Whitestar, I sentence you all to death for the crimes you have committed against the Lunatak people. Given your propensity towards torture, your torments will be drawn out and painful. You will be transported to the Graviton Moon, bound hand and foot, and placed in the middle of the town square. Every day you will be tortured by professional torturers, both mentally and physically. At the end of the week, all those slaves that you took delight in torturing will be given the authority to end your torment, and beat you until you die."

Chedra smiled grimly. Killing Crackle had been fun, seeing Myrik's corpse likewise. These three would serve as fine examples of Lunar justice for all the moons to see. She would be present, to see an end to this chapter of her life. Then she would return to the Psion Moon, reconnect with family and friends, try to pick up the pieces of her life. She'd made some friends through this, but it wasn't worth the cost. Her knees were a dull throb when she wasn't paying attention, and several scars were starting to be covered over by fur.

* * *

Cameo watched mutely while Psychro and Psikaris hugged each other. His own fighter, dusted off, would play escort for Psychro's return to Third Earth, a promise he'd made to Psikaris. Psychro had grudgingly gone into some detail with both of them about what had happened, prior to asking for some money to cover the cost of some mental work. It shocked Cameo to hear it, and he might not have believed any of it if similar stories weren't emerging from the other prisoners.

How could such evil exist? Lunataks weren't 'nice' by any stretch of the imagination, but they were more civilized than any of this suggested. There was a darkness about Psychro, even now as he boarded the Icewalker ship. He hoped his brother in law would be fine, that he would be able to recover just as he'd hoped for all the former prisoners. He'd left an open invite to any of them that had lost jobs as a result of their disappearance, and two had taken him up on it. The more hybrids there were in positions of authority the better. Maybe something like this would never happen again.

* * *

"Chilla," Psychro said, greeting the Icewalker woman as he disembarked from the vessel. He was home on Third Earth and eager to get into some semblance of a routine again. Mystan was right, muting the memories helped and without the unpleasant side effects.

"I know. It was all over the news," she replied. It was strange to hear her say it. The media had sent word of it here, as he had expected. Even if they hadn't, Black Tiger had returned and word would have been circulating around.

But his focus wasn't on the girl, it was on the woman in front of him. He had won a date with her on a bet. Sleep with Mandora and Chilla would go out with him. The whole thing seemed ludicrous now in hindsight. "Chilla, I know you promised me a chance, but I don't know when I'm going to be ready to take you up on it. A lot has happened, it's put relationships in a whole new light. I'm sorry."

She touched his arm, a gesture that another time would have seemed out of character. It said everything. He'd been pursuing her for over a year now, and yet she understood the reasons. Chilla might not know specifically what he'd been through, but she understood that there was trauma involved. "Take your time. An Icewalker always keeps her promises. If you need help, ask." And that was all he needed. She stayed with him a moment longer, and he considered spilling everything, but he wasn't ready yet. As she walked away, and he turned back to his home, he wondered if he ever would be.


End file.
